


All Things In Succession

by everandanon



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Age Difference - Seven Years, Alpha Dean Winchester, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Historical, Arranged Marriage, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Background Relationships, Castiel & Sam Winchester Friendship, Growing Up, Implied Dean/others, Implied Future Mpreg, Knight Castiel, Knight Dean Winchester, M/M, Misunderstandings, No Underage Sex, Omega Castiel, Prince Castiel, Prince Dean Winchester, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-07
Updated: 2019-11-25
Packaged: 2021-01-24 14:34:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 313,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21339796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/everandanon/pseuds/everandanon
Summary: When thirteen-year-old Castiel unexpectedly presents as an omega, everything changes. Worst of all, his older brother is sending him away — to bemarried. Still, though everyone insists Cas can’t be a knight anymore, maybe his new husband will feel differently.As for Dean, the last thing he’s expecting his mysterious husband-to-be is achild. Though he’s furious with his dad and Cas’s older brother, Dean goes through with the marriage, anyway. If he doesn’t, they’ll give the poor kid to someone else, and who knows what will happen to him? Nah, Dean’ll just stash the kid in the barracks to train to his heart’s content, and life will go on.Of course, Cas can’t stay a kid forever, but as the years pass, Dean seems more and more determined to pretend otherwise . . .
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 974
Kudos: 1253
Collections: Best of Destiel – A/B/O, My ultra favourite supernatural fics, The Destiel Fan Survey Favs Collection





	1. Part I

**Author's Note:**

> Some additional warnings/clarification on the tags:  
**Potential CW #1:** Cas is 14 at the beginning of this story, but when I say slow burn, I'm not kidding. Dean absolutely perceives him as a child for a significant portion of this fic, and I tried very hard to avoid making things creepy or uncomfortable (it is supposed to be a romance, eventually). That said, there will be non-explicit handling of adolescent sexuality (think in terms of Cas figuring out what it means to be attracted to someone, or how to handle his heats alone). I did my best to be sensitive when discussing these topics, since I am easily squicked myself, but I apologize if I failed.  
**Potential CW #2:** There are non-graphic references to war in this fic. The fighting involved in these wars is not something I explore in detail, but they're there in the background.  
**Potential CW #3:** There are a few scenes of violence in this story. I will put a tag at the beginning of those chapters, as well as a more detailed explanation in the end notes.  
**Potential CW #4: ** Please note the Slow Burn tag. **** Due to circumstances, this is a very, very, _very_ slow burn. Dean and Cas are building the foundations of a relationship throughout this fic, but the burn is glacial. More detail in the notes  
**Potential CW #5:** I received feedback, even from people who enjoyed the story, that the situation (with the misunderstandings, and with Dean in particular) could be incredibly frustrating. More details in the notes.  
**The Attempted Rape/Non-Con tag**: This tag is for a much later chapter in which Cas encounters April. A detailed explanation is in the end notes, and additional warnings will be posted on that chapter.  
**The Background Relationships tag:** Bobby/Ellen, Sam/OFC, and Anna/Bela. There are no scenes from these characters' POV. If you have questions about this, feel free to ask.
> 
> Also, this is not at all intended to be historically accurate. If anachronisms and the like bother you, this fic may be an ordeal. I apologize.
> 
> This story is complete, but an Epilogue is being worked on.
> 
> Not beta read, all mistakes are mine. Please do not repost.
> 
> If you have any questions about the tags or things not mentioned, or if you feel that I've left something out, please let me know! I am [questionableraccoon](https://questionableraccoon.tumblr.com/) on tumblr, if it's more comfortable to talk there.
> 
> Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: Implied Dean/others, more details in the end notes
> 
> If you'd like to see young knight-in-training Cas looking adorable, you can find this wonderful doodle by Diminuel [here](https://diminuel.tumblr.com/post/189255083805/young-knight-in-training-cas-i-was-inspired-by)! <3

> “_There is no royal road to anything. One thing at a time, all things in succession. That which grows fast, withers as rapidly. That which grows slowly, endures.”_
> 
> _\- Josiah Gilbert Holland_

“Cas,” Anna says gently, and Cas purses his lips, not looking at her.

“I don’t think my husband is going to like it,” he remarks, then lifts his eyes, surveying the string of clumsily painted pastel florals that now line his bedroom. He looks back at his current project, flowers bleeding into each other, and frowns. “I don’t think he’s going to like _any _of them. I don’t think anyone would.”

“You’ll improve,” his sister encourages him, and Cas sighs.

“I suppose I must. I still don’t understand why I can’t train anymore.”

She winces.

“Well. You’re an omega. Omegas don’t fight.”

Cas hunches over, and Naomi coughs behind him, a reminder to straighten up.

He doesn’t.

“But I fought before,” he insists, petulant. “Nothing has changed.”

“_Everything_ has changed, Cas. I wish you could train — I wish you could do whatever you wanted — but we all assumed you’d be an alpha. There hasn’t been an omega in the family since — well, ever. Not on record. But now that you aren’t . . . I’m sorry.”

Cas crosses his arms, rising and going to the window, where he often stands now; it has an excellent view of the training yard, where he used to spend his days, running drills and sparring with his fellows.

But then he woke up one day, feverish and itchy, the neutral, inoffensive scent he’d always had turned strangely sweet, and —

And now he spends his days practicing watercolors and needlepoint and being told how to behave for his husband, because in addition to not being allowed to train anymore, Cas is being sent away.

“Am I going there to train?” he asks, for probably the dozenth time, and behind him, Anna sighs.

“You’re going there to be married.”

“That doesn’t mean I can’t train,” he points out, as he always does, because even if Michael is suddenly behaving like a different person with Cas, setting all these strange rules for him and ignoring him even more than usual, that doesn’t mean Cas’s husband will be the same. “Lawrence is a great kingdom, with a formidable army. They might want me to fight.”

There’s a long silence.

“Cas,” she says gently, and he whirls, imploring.

“No, Anna. Everyone says that once I’m married, I’ll belong to my husband. Just because I’m Michael’s now, and he says I’m not allowed to fight, doesn’t mean my husband will be the same.”

“No . . .” The word comes out careful, and this is the other thing that Cas hates about being an omega. Everyone is so _careful _ with him; no one will tell him _anything._

He ignores the fact that Anna is his older sister and dearest sibling, and she has always been careful with him.

“You see? Anna, I’m meant to be a knight. I’m at the top of my rank, and I’ve trained harder than any of them. I can’t — I can’t _not._”

Anna looks down, but just before she does, Cas thinks he sees her eyes turn shiny.

“I understand, Cas,” she says, and she sounds strange. “I do. If I were King, I wouldn’t send you away. I’d let you stay and I’d let you keep training, no matter what anyone said. But I’m not, and alpha or omega, you’re Michael’s to do with as he pleases. And it pleases him to make this treaty.”

“But my husband—” he starts, and she nods, covering her eyes with her palm. It’s strange to see, because Anna is the most direct person he knows. She once stared at _Michael_ so long he was forced to look away, and though she was sent to the tower dungeon for a week for impudence, Cas can tell by the way Michael speaks to her that he’s never forgotten.

“Your husband will probably not let you fight,” she finishes sadly, and Cas deflates.

Before this, it’s always been ‘you’re an omega’ and ‘you’ll have other duties now’ and ‘if Michael wills it, it must be so.’

This is the first time Cas has been told that his _husband _will not let him.

He takes his seat again, a little shocked. He’ll only be _fourteen _at the end of the summer_. _He has been training since he could hold a wooden sword. He is a mere two years away from being an official part of the King’s Army, eligible for border patrol in areas of peace and guard duty on diplomatic missions; he’s only four from being sent out on actual missions, to fight in skirmishes at hostile borders; and he’s a mere six from being allowed to take his Challenge and earn his knighthood.

And now, he may never fight again.

“What will I do, then?” he whispers. “If I can’t — if I’m not training, then — then what? Everyone says — they keep saying that now I’ll paint, and sew, and amuse myself with parties and things and — and _serve my husband, _ but I don’t even know what that _means_! And I don’t want those other things. I _hate _them.”

Naomi coughs again, because that is another thing that happens now; the slightest hint of anger enters Cas’s voice, and he is reprimanded for being _unseemly._

Anna looks up, more distraught than he’s ever seen her, but it’s Naomi she looks at.

“Can’t I speak frankly with him?” she demands. “He should at least — if we’re to send him off like a sheep to slaughter, we should at least prepare him.”

There’s a pause.

“It’s for his alpha to teach him,” Naomi says stiffly, though she sounds vaguely unhappy.

“He’s not an eighteen-year-old omega being presented at court,” Anna protests. “He doesn’t know a damn thing—”

“Language,” Naomi interjects sternly. “And court omegas are not supposed to know anything.”

“At least they know there’s something they don’t _know_!” Anna roars, surging to her feet, and Cas shrinks back a little at the fury in her gaze. “At least they know what it means for their alphas to teach it to them.”

“It’s tradition.”

“And is it tradition to marry off children?”

“He is young, yes, but he’s presented. It’s not — unheard of.”

Cas clenches his fists, baffled and deeply upset; this is another thing that has been happening a lot, lately.

People talk about him like he’s not even there, and he rarely understands, and even if he asks, they ignore him.

“Two hundred years ago, perhaps! When was the last time you _heard _of something like this?”

“Lady Adina of Cel—”

“Lady Adina was _sixteen, _ at least, as was Lord Daniel, and they had had an enduring childhood attachment. Prince Dean is _twenty_! And God knows Lawrence has different ideas about such relationships than we do here. And we’re just — we’re going to send Cas in alone, confused, without any idea what to expect?”

Cas perks up a little, at that. His husband is a prince? His husband is called _Dean_?

Is his husband Prince Dean, the Great Knight of Lawrence and Hero of the Southern Lands?

He’s found out more today than he has in months_._

“Your highness,” Naomi says, softly, and Anna flinches at the use of her formal title. “Our king is, of course, beyond reproach; all his decisions are just and wise, as befits a king of Eden. His inspirations are unknowable, and above the understanding of one such as myself.”

Anna narrows her eyes.

“And?”

“And because of my inferior understanding, I confess to being surprised by them. They were not what I would have expected.”

Anna swallows.

“So you think he’s being a callous ass, too.”

“Your highness is not safe from accusations of treason,” Naomi points out, tone warning, and Anna snorts.

“Like you’ll tell.”

“If specifically asked—”

“Like my brother would bother.” She sighs, retaking her chair and turning back to Cas. “What a mess.”

Cas nods fervently.

“It is. What were you talking about, just now?”

Anna hesitates, eyes flicking back to Naomi, and Cas could cry from frustration, except future knights don’t cry.

Although he’s not a future knight anymore, is he?

“Cas,” Anna finally says, eyes determined. “When your wedding night comes — something is going to happen.”

Cas blinks.

“Alright?”

“It — it won’t be comfortable. In fact, it might be painful.”

Cas gives her an alarmed look.

“Anna, what’s going to happen?”

“You — you and your husband are — going to do something.”

Naomi coughs in warning, and Anna glowers at her.

“What . . . what will we do?” Cas is beginning to feel a little afraid, aspirations of knighthood notwithstanding.

“I can’t tell you. I’m _so _sorry, because you deserve to know before it happens, but — but still, I know it might hurt, and you probably won’t like it, but you’ll be alright. So try not to be too afraid. It’s a normal thing that happens, and Naomi will be there the first time, and —”

“The first time?” Cas echoes, concern increasing. This mysterious thing that is uncomfortable and painful is going to happen more than once? It’s _normal_?

If Cas didn’t know any better, he’d think Prince Dean was going to _fight him _on their wedding night!

At that thought, a spark of hope flares in his chest.

If Prince Dean fights him — even if he wasn’t originally planning on letting Cas fight in the army, if Cas does well enough, then . . .

Anna stares with unseeing eyes, face ashen.

“You’re only thirteen. Maybe he won’t — after all, Lawrence is — is more cavalier about such things, and I’ve heard he never lacks for partners, so he might leave you alone, after this—”

Cas stopped listening at ‘he never lacks for partners,’ because Anna _must _be talking about sparring partners. After all, Prince Dean is the Great Knight of Lawrence. Cas and the other fledglings are kept away from the formal barracks, but they’ve all heard the stories of Dean’s bravery and finesse.

Which means that on their wedding night, Dean —

Dean will be _testing _him.

Cas’s heart pounds. Perhaps this is why Cas was chosen. Anna has ranted, has decried Michael’s use of Cas as a ‘shiny new bargaining chip,’ but what if it wasn’t Michael at all?

Lawrence is a proud kingdom, and since King John ousted King Roman when he was barely twenty himself, it has boasted one of the greatest armies in all the land. Even Cas could tell that Michael, for all his pride, was keen to make a treaty of some sort with them. Fighting Lawrence for any reason would be devastating.

In light of all that — maybe Michael _didn’t _ choose Cas. Maybe Dean learned of Cas, of his dedicated, nearly lifelong training, and _asked _for him. Maybe Dean desired a spouse who would stand on equal footing with Lawrence’s formidable army, who would help represent that proud achievement.

Maybe Dean _will _want Cas to fight.

“Cas?” Anna says cautiously, and Cas turns his beaming face to her. “Is everything — what? Why do you look like that?”

Cas tries to cover his excitement, though by the worry still present in her eyes, he’s not sure he succeeds.

“It’s alright, Anna,” he tells her, firm. “I have faith that everything will be fine.”

But just in case — Cas doesn’t need the courtyard or the fledglings to train; he’ll figure something out in here.

And by the time his wedding night arrives?

He’ll be ready.

Honestly, Dean knew this day would come, although he wouldn’t really say he’s _ready._

“Still don’t understand why nobody’s tellin’ me anything,” he mutters, tugging at the heavy velvet collar on his tunic. Beside him, Bobby is downright glaring at John, whose back is turned.

“You and me both, son,” he mumbles back, and John abruptly tuns, scanning his back for threats.

On Dean’s other side, Rufus lets out a quiet harrumph.

“Ain’t right. I don’t envy you, Bobby. If it were me, I wouldn’t want no part in this travesty.”

Bobby turns his glare to Rufus.

“Well, somebody’s gotta be there for the kid.”

“That somebody doesn’t gotta be one of us!”

“I’m right here,” Dean protests, and they both shake their heads.

Bobby sighs, putting a hand on Dean’s shoulder.

“So am I, boy. And I’m stayin’ here. So — we’ll get through this, alright?”

Dean frowns.

“Right. I — thanks?” He looks down. “I mean, I’m not gonna pretend I’m not nervous, but — I’ve kinda always known this would happen.”

Bobby just gives him a sad look, and then their attention is drawn to where the doors to the hall are opening, Tara announcing the royal family of Eden as a hush descends.

Dean straightens right up, of course, because sometime in the next minute, his future husband is going to walk through those doors.

And since nobody will tell him a damn thing, all he knows is that it _is _a husband, and the man is coming from Eden.

Which Dean thinks is pretty terrible, personally, because if he had a name, an age, a miniature portrait — _anything else _— he might not be so nervous. Dean has always known his marriage would be both political and not even remotely his choice, so it’s hardly a surprise. And sure, Dean’s only human, so it is a _little _disappointing that he’s never going to follow some delightful scent trail to the love of his life, but it’s not like it’s ever been an option.

Besides, it’s not out of the _question. _ Political marriages frequently don’t even involve matings, because it looks bad if the bond gets rejected, and while mating someone _else _is a huge no-no . . . Dean could still fall in love with somebody. He has a duty to his omega and his country to marry, produce heirs, and peaceably coexist, but beyond that — he’s allowed to discreetly look elsewhere for company.

Anyway, Dean’s an alpha, so he knew it would be an omega — or a beta woman, if nobody was around the right age. And while Dean doesn’t doubt his Dad would wed him to a forty-year-old omega if that’s all Eden had to offer — because nobody wants a war with Eden and this treaty is one of the biggest things to happen in a long time — omegas of good breeding _never_ end up on the shelf; that fertility boost is too much of a boon to those wealthy houses.

Although, now that he considers the houses of Eden who would be deemed acceptable spouses for the future King of Lawrence — omegas are a little thin on the ground. Certainly, the royal family hasn’t turned out any in forever, and Dean’s pretty sure the current lineup of the secondary houses are all alphas and betas.

Strange. Well, Dean doesn’t pay as much attention as he should in lessons; he’s probably missing something.

Rufus and Bobby fall back as John comes to stand next to Dean, and Dean shoots him a friendly enough glance until he sees his father’s face.

John looks grim. Even worse, when he glances at Dean, he looks _apologetic._

Dean’s dad is never sorry about _anything._

“I don’t expect heirs right away,” his dad says quietly, which — what the _hell?_

He doesn’t get a chance to ask.

“We present the wise and benevolent King Michael of Eden,” some weaselly dude in a ridiculous hat declares theatrically. He moves his arm in some weird flourish as he bows, waiting for Michael to walk past him, and the elaborate ornamentation on the brim of his hat lurches like it’s trying to escape.

Michael glides forward, movements smooth and elegant in the way of all Edenish, and John steps toward him. They consider each other a moment before slightly inclining their heads in greeting.

“It is an honor to have you here today,” John acknowledges. “We have not had a King of Eden visit in more than a century.”

Michael nods.

“It is an honor to be welcomed here. I hope the next century sees us better friends.”

“Likewise.” John gestures to Dean. “I present my son and heir, Prince Dean of Lawrence. Is he acceptable?”

Dean would be offended, but this is part of the ritual of marriages. Whoever basically owns you presents you to whoever basically owns the other party, and they make a show of assessing you in person, and if everybody’s happy, the marriage goes forward.

Of course, John and Michael have been in talks for months, and this display is just a formality.

The answer, from both of them, will be _yes._

Michael surveys Dean with a critical eye, then gives a slight nod.

“He is acceptable.”

John raises his brows slightly, because now it’s his turn, and Dean’s husband-to-be is nowhere in sight.

“Metatron,” Michael says, addressing the weird guy in the hat, and Dean vaguely recalls that being the name of the much-lauded temple scribe. The Edenish are weird. “Bring Castiel in.”

_Castiel. _ Dean blinks, taking a deep breath. Dean’s going to marry a guy named _Castiel, _and in another second, Dean will lay eyes on him for the first time.

This whole marriage thing suddenly feels very — big.

But Dean’s getting worked up too soon, because when the doors open again, Castiel doesn’t come in. Instead, a kid at least a few years younger than Sammy appears. He’s pretty small, though his face suggests he’s older than his stature would imply. Dean almost chuckles at the tangled mess of hair on his head, at odds with the pristine white robe swirling around his feet; a meeting of kings, and his hair looks like he spent the day playing in the woods.

Curious blue eyes catch his, and Dean blinks, amusement fading as the realization sets in.

This boy isn’t just _any _boy.

He’s Dean’s future husband’s kid.

Dean offers the boy a small smile, though he glances anxiously at his Dad. So this is where an omega of the right bloodlines came from; the man must have been widowed.

Dean feels at a complete disadvantage. He’s only twenty, has never been married, and while Lisa’s young son Ben was one of the most fun parts about the time he spent with her, this kid is at _least_ twelve, and he’s just lost a parent and will be living in a strange place. Dean kind of thought he’d have some time before he had to do the Dad thing. Certainly, before he had to be a father to an _adolescent._

But Sammy’s sixteen, and he’s Dean’s best friend, so — maybe it won’t be so bad? Kid’s probably not looking for a dad, anyway; Dean can just be more like a cool older brother.

Yeah. That sounds good. He’s got this.

Although, how old does that make his new husband? Even if he married right at eighteen, that makes him at least thirty.

“I present my brother, Prince Castiel of Eden. Is he acceptable?”

Dean snaps back to attention, eyes searching Castiel out, but Tara is shutting the door and no one else is coming through.

And the boy is still staring at him.

“He is acceptable,” John agrees, which is fine, Dean knows he doesn’t get a say in this, anyway, but — but where the fuck is he?

“Castiel,” Michael says, and for some bizarre fucking reason the boy steps forward, standing beside his king.

Dean feels someone poke him in the back, and he shuffles forward, too, still trying to puzzle out what’s going on.

“Hello, Dean,” the boy says, and it’s a small voice for a small boy, though up close Dean can see his earlier impression was right. The kid might be as old as fourteen.

It still doesn’t explain why he’s standing opposite Dean, where Dean’s betrothed should be standing, lowering his eyes and baring his neck.

“Dean,” his father mutters, and Dean gapes at him. Dean _what_? What is Dean supposed to do here? If his fiance were standing there, head tilted, Dean would know from all the stupid rehearsals with a training dummy they’d hauled from the barracks (Jo had even put a blue dress on it, guffawing loudly with Benny while she’d looked on from the sides) that he was supposed to lean down or up or whatever, scent the guy, and then scent-mark him.

It’s part of the ceremony — which is just stupid, Dean thinks, because the whole bite-thing won’t be happening and everyone knows it — but ceremonies are always weird and pointless and people usually only do them for the food they get afterward.

Anyway, Dean can’t perform the ceremony if his fiance isn’t here, and yet his father is getting that terrifying, thunderous expression, and Michael is narrowing his eyes, face expectant, and the boy in front of him is starting to frown.

And finally, he can’t avoid it any longer.

The boy _is _his fiance. His father’s marrying him off to a child.

Worse, this child’s own _brother _is abandoning him to the mercies of a goddamn stranger, something that would suck at any age, but makes Dean feel downright sick with disgust under the circumstances, because Sammy is sixteen and Dean would die a thousand painful deaths before forcing him into marriage like this.

Dean bends stiffly, carefully avoiding touching — _Castiel’s _— neck. There’s a scent there, undeniably omega, but beyond that, he still smells painfully adolescent.

Dean hovers there, dread cold in his stomach, and then remembers that he _has _to touch Castiel, has to leave his own scent behind as part of a ritual where Dean declares his intent and Castiel accepts it. He wills himself not to vomit; his Dad will have his head for that kind of embarrassment, and Castiel will probably be pretty damn offended, too.

With a fortifying breath, Dean gently brushes his cheek against Castiel’s neck and quickly steps away.

Michael nods approvingly, and after a moment, Castiel straightens his head back out, still looking at the ground.

Still way too fucking young for _anything._

It’s treason for sure, but in that moment, Dean kind of wants to kill his own father.

Dean’s halfway through the wedding ceremony when it hits him.

That after a wedding, there’s a wedding night. And Dean was already dreading that, because creepy traditions mean that both parties have a reliable source present to confirm the marriage was consummated, but Dean figured he’d just have to close his eyes and pretend Bobby and some stiff Edenish stranger weren’t right there on the other side of the room. Hell, he thought a joke about it might even make a nice icebreaker with his husband, who would probably be just as uncomfortable as Dean.

Dean’s not sure. The Edenish have this weird purity thing in their culture, and Bobby very gruffly and awkwardly explained to Dean that his new husband would probably know very, very little about what was about to happen.

Which — yeah. Dean didn’t envy that. Dude would probably be a little terrified on top of embarrassed.

But Dean’s not really in the business of deflowering people, so that element was a huge factor in his anxiety, too, and mostly he’d tried to avoid thinking about it, deciding he’d just get through it when it happened.

He’s not so confident now.

Anyway, he spills the chalice of wine all over Castiel’s pristine white robe, hands made clumsy by nerves, and the sight of all that red staining the crisp, beautiful robe just — Dean throws up in his mouth a little, because if that’s not an ill portent of what’s to come, he doesn’t know what is.

They take a length of woven ribbons from Lawrence and Eden and tie their wrists together, and Castiel’s hand, despite its unexpected tan and abundant callouses, still looks small and fragile next to Dean’s. Both sides chant a series of three blessings on their marriage, and then the two of them unwind the woven ribbons until they’re free.

The priest pronounces them wed.

Castiel waits in front of Dean, expectant and — and so much _smaller _than Dean — and Dean knows what comes next, knows what he has to do.

He sweeps Castiel into his arms and walks out of the chapel, Bobby and a severe looking Edenish woman falling into step behind him.

All the way to the wedding chamber.

And to think, a week ago, Dean was afraid he wouldn’t be able to carry his new husband that far.

“Bobby, I don’t know if I can do this.”

The Edenish woman, Naomi, stands politely off to the side while Dean has his crisis, and Bobby nods along, expression pained.

“I know, boy. I know. But you have to.”

“No, I— I really don’t think I _can,_” Dean insists, raising his eyebrows meaningfully. Dean laid Castiel out on the bed, just like he was supposed to, and took one look at the way all the flickering candlelight in the room gave him a soft, innocent glow, and then fled to where Bobby and Naomi were standing, because hell-fucking-_no._

“Think of something else. Be, uh, sensitive. And then it’ll be over and you don’t ever gotta think about it again.”

“Bobby,” Dean repeats, miserable.

“I wish you didn’t have to, Dean,” Bobby says, and Dean knows he means it. In fact, Dean sees the sadness in his eyes and he knows Bobby probably fought John about it, that this is why John’s been avoiding Bobby and Bobby’s been glaring whether John’s looking or not.

And then it hits him.

“Well — well, maybe I don’t?”

“Dean-” Bobby starts, but Dean’s already turning, walking over to Naomi, because he knows Bobby has his back, but—

“Castiel’s a child,” he says bluntly, and Naomi presses her mouth together, looking to the side.

She seems pretty damn unhappy, and maybe she’s just annoyed that she has to be here for this, that Dean’s causing trouble, but _maybe_ . . .

“He’s presented.”

“People present at all kinds of ages. A blind person could scent him and know he was just a kid, still.”

“My king has seen fit to give him to you. Treat him as he deserves,” she adds, and in that moment, in the faint pleading in her tone, Dean _knows _she agrees with him.

Or at the very least, she doesn’t want Castiel to suffer.

“I could do that,” Dean says, catching her eye. “_Or _we could just tell everyone I did that.”

Naomi shakes her head.

“I will not lie to my king. It is treason.”

“Right, but — but this is _wrong._”

“If my king deems it right, then it is right.”

Dean clenches his fists.

“Okay. Okay, what — what’s the rule here, exactly? That you’re breaking?”

“Lying to my king,” she says, frosty, like Dean’s an idiot.

“But — but Castiel’s mine now, isn’t he? King Michael’s not his king anymore. Why should he care what happens now?”

“You _know _ why. The validity of the marriage, of the entire _treaty, _could be called into question—”

“But no one will.”

“You expect us to trust you—”

“Listen, lady, if you and Bobby go out there and say it’s done, then it’s done. No matter what Bobby or I say later, you have that, and if we’re actually going back on our _word_, the treaty’s in trouble, anyway.”

“The fact remains that I won’t _lie._”

“Then — don’t! Just — avoid the question.”

“The king will ask, specifically. It’s part of the ceremony.”

“And does the ceremony insist you tell him exactly what happened in here?”

Naomi shudders.

“Not _exactly, _but I have to confirm the marriage was consummated—”

Dean brightens.

“Using those words?”

She falters.

“Well — no —”

“So don’t lie! Just — when he asks, tell him ‘it’s done.’ He doesn’t have to know _what’s _done.”

Naomi looks torn, so Dean leans a little closer, widening his eyes, imploring.

“Naomi. Look at him. I don’t know how long you’ve known him, but I just met him today and he seems like a good kid. He also seems like he has no idea what’s happening here. Do you really wanna stand by while I — while I _traumatize _him?”

Naomi does look at Castiel, still lying on the bed, hands folded atop his stomach while he clearly tries to look like he’s not straining to hear what they’re saying.

Dean takes a deep breath.

“I’ll take a blood oath,” he offers, and he can see the moment she caves.

“Oh, _fine,_” she mutters, though there’s a flicker of fear amid the resignation. “I could be _executed _for this.”

“You won’t be,” he assures her.

“You don’t _know _that.”

“Nobody here has any reason to tell the truth, okay?”

She shakes her head, covering her face.

“I feel I’m going to regret this.”

“You won’t,” he promises, probably projecting his own _incredible _sense of relief way too hard, and fishes the knife out of his boot.

“Swear my king will never discover this lie by any fault of yours. Him, too,” she adds, jerking her head toward Bobby, who sighs, pulling out his own knife.

“I swear your king will never discover this lie by any fault of mine,” Dean declares, and drags the knife across his palm. In his peripheral, he sees Castiel sit up on the bed.

Bobby follows suit, and Naomi folds her arms.

“Very well,” she mumbles. “What now?”

“Uh.” He looks at Bobby, and Bobby shrugs.

“Alright, so we . . . wait a few minutes and go out?”

Dean nods.

“Yeah, that sounds — wait, _what? _ A few _minutes_? Hell no!” Dean doesn’t even want to think about all the horrible implications of them going down to dinner early.

Bobby raises his brows.

“Uh. That is. They’re more likely to think we’re lying. Come on, Bobby, we just took a blood oath!”

Bobby just looks unimpressed, so Dean turns around, wandering back to Castiel, who looks a little frustrated.

“Alright, buddy?” Dean asks, and Castiel hesitates.

“Alpha,” he begins slowly, and Dean cringes.

“Just call me Dean,” he says hurriedly, and Castiel nods, clearly relieved.

“Dean. That’s what I’ve been calling you in my head.”

Dean blinks.

“What’s going on?” Castiel continues, and then throws Naomi an uneasy glance. “I know I’m not supposed to speak to him unprompted, Naomi, but he _did _ask me.”

Oh, God. What have they been telling the poor kid?

Dean crouches next to the bed, hoping Castiel will feel a little more comfortable looking down at Dean instead of up.

“Listen, Castiel — Cas,” he tries, deciding it makes things a little more comfortable, “We’re just — gonna hang out here, for a little while, and then we’ll grab something to eat. Sound good?”

Cas tilts his head, eyes shrewd.

“Is that all?”

Dean tries not to make a face, plastering on a big smile.

“Yup. That’s all.”

“Oh. Alright.”

Dean shifts, crossing his legs underneath himself and leaning back against the bed, deeply uncomfortable in the silence.

Above him, Cas sighs.

Dean frowns, twisting around to look at him.

“Everything okay, Cas?”

Cas hesitates.

“No. I thought you would—” he cuts off, lowering his gaze, and Dean gives Naomi a frantic look, because maybe Cas knew more about what was supposed to happen than he thought.

Naomi just shakes her head violently.

“Uh, what, man? What did you think I would do?”

Cas bites his lip, then abruptly squares his shoulders, facing Dean.

“I thought there would be more sword-fighting.”

Dean stares. He can feel Naomi and Bobby staring, too, which is a relief, because it means he’s not going insane.

“You thought — what?”

“I thought you’d fight me.”

“I — you want me to fight you?”

Cas draws himself up even more, pride in his face.

“I’ve been training since I was five. I am the best of the fledglings. And I was going to be a knight before—” he swallows, but doesn’t look down. “Before Michael decided to give me to you. But Lawrence is feared and renowned for their army — _you _are, for your adventures throughout the continent — and I thought, perhaps, you wished for a spouse that would help uphold that reputation. That tonight, you would test me.”

“Oh,” Dean says, dumbstruck.

“Michael forbade me from fighting,” Cas continues, gaze fierce. “But I am more than capable, and I’m _yours _now. If you wish me to fight, to defend the country I will call home from now on — to prove its greatness to the _world_ — then I will. I _can._”

Dean’s still kind of struggling to parse the fact that Eden let this kid go into his wedding night assuming his alpha was going to test his literal battle prowess, but he’s distantly aware that this is a pretty impressive speech.

He’s silent for too long, though, because Cas’s shoulders slump a little.

“Please,” he says quietly, tinged with desperation, and despite the eloquent ferocity of his words, this one comes out sounding just like the plea of a frightened child.

Dean makes up his mind, there and then.

Michael is a dick, and the rest of Eden is, too, for supporting a king who not only took away what Cas spent his whole life working toward, but gave him away to somebody who could have been a monster, for all he knew.

And Cas is right; he’s _Dean’s _now, like all the people of Lawrence will be someday, and Dean intends to do right by them all, including Cas.

He stands, marching to the wardrobe and fishing out the wooden practice swords he and Sammy used to spar with well after they were supposed to be asleep.

Cas is looking at him with wide, hopeful eyes as Dean tosses him a sword.

He catches it easily.

“You wanna be a knight, huh?”

“Yes,” Cas says, leaping up from the bed. “More than anything.”

“Alright. Show me your skills, and if you’re good — well, then the knights of Lawrence await.”

There’s a gasp from somewhere in the room, though it’s not from Cas; nah, Cas looks utterly _delighted,_ even as he gracefully slips into stance and raises his sword.

“But — Prince Dean, you can’t—”

“Don’t bother,” Bobby tells her, shaking his head. “And anyway, if he’s really been trainin’ that long, I don’t see why not.”

“But he’s — he’s an omega. He could get _hurt._”

Dean looks up at that.

“So? Lots of omega knights over here. They do fine.”

Naomi gapes, but doesn’t say anything, and Dean turns back to Cas.

“Alright. Whatcha got, Cas?”

A lot, as it turns out.

Cas wasn’t kidding about his training; husband or not, Dean’s pretty sure Cas’ll be an asset to the ranks once he’s all finished. And obviously, he’s nowhere near close to being done, but the groundwork’s there. He’s fast, faster than any of the beginners’ rank Dean was supervising in the courtyard earlier, and he’s at least twice as graceful as any of them, too, movements sharp and fluid and reactive.

Dean carefully holds back, genuinely wanting to see what all Cas can do, though he could easily disarm him at any moment. He sends Cas sprawling a few times, wanting to test his recovery and parry, and he’s pleased to see there’s no weakness on that front, either.

And finally, once they’ve been moving about the room for a good twenty minutes, the kid’s cute bird nest hair even more of a disaster and his stained wedding robes a wrinkled mess, Cas attempts a bold attack.

He’s breathing hard, round face flushed with exertion, though his movements remain sharp and focused. He’s just scrambled away from Dean after being knocked to the ground again, regrouping on the other side of the bed, when suddenly he dives across it, rolling to land just in front of Dean. Curious, Dean allows it, doesn’t step back at the last moment after Cas has pitched forward, crouching and thrusting the wooden sword in a neat loop around Dean’s, knocking it right out of his hands before pointing the tip of his own at Dean’s heart.

“You let me win,” he accuses, breathing heavy, and Dean grins, not even thinking about it before he reaches out and ruffles Cas’s hair.

The tip of the sword drops, and Cas reaches for his head, startled.

“Sure. But you did real good, Cas. You’ll be a knight in no time.” His grin widens. “Train hard, and some day we’ll fight for real, okay?”

After a beat, Cas lets his hand fall from his head, and he nods back at Dean, eyes solemn.

“I will. I look forward to it.”

Surprisingly, Dean kind of does, too, to see what this skilled, determined kid is going to make of himself.

But that’s a long way off, and it’s nothing to worry about now.

Castiel has to sit with his new husband at dinner, but Anna is allowed to sit next to him, and though they’re quiet as the dining ceremony begins, Cas can smell her anxiety beneath her perfume. The particular scent has been his close companion these last few months, ever since Michael announced Cas’s betrothal, and while he still has trouble reading the new world of scents that came with his presentation, this one is familiar by now.

As soon as King John invites them to eat, Cas subtly turns to her, curious, and she gives him a pained look, reaching out to smooth his hair.

“Are you alright?” she asks quietly. “Goodness, your robe is a mess. He couldn’t have even—” she takes a deep breath, glancing around worriedly.

Cas is puzzled. Of course his robe is a mess; it's nothing like what he would wear to train, and for good reason.

Even if Dean went easy on him, he left no room for Cas to relax. Cas fought as hard as he ever has, and he can still feel the adrenaline from the mock battle, the renewed sense of eagerness to return to his training, to someday be as good as someone like Dean_._

To be _better_.

And he’ll have that chance, now. Cas was right, about _everything _ — well, he doesn’t know if Dean chose him or not, but he hardly cares at this point — and _he’s going to be a knight. _ Maybe not a knight of Eden, but Lawrence is to be his home now, and Dean, the best they have to offer, tested Cas and Cas _passed._

To think that a week ago, Cas thought he might never get to hold a sword again.

He wonders who will train him here; Dean said someday they would fight for real, but a part of Cas wonders if Dean might still be there, sometimes, might teach Cas himself, when he has the time, because even if Cas is still young, he’s Dean’s _husband. _Dean would want to make sure Cas was the best of the best, wouldn’t he? Someone worthy of standing beside him?

Cas glances over, hard-pressed to contain his delight. He hadn’t known what to expect from his new husband, but he has already decided Dean is _wonderful, _ and Cas would like to be worthy of him. Dean has a big, happy smile, like Anna does when they’re not at court, and he ruffled Cas’s hair and called him ‘Cas,’ and he’s the kind of great knight Cas has always wanted to be, and _most importantly _—

He’s going to let Cas become one, too.

Anna gently touches his side, and Cas turns back to her startled.

“Cas? Are you alright?” she repeats, and he nods vigorously, beaming at her.

“More than,” he says, and Anna flinches back.

“More than?” she echoes, sounding troubled.

Cas nods again.

“It was _wonderful,_” he tells her, and she pales a little.

“Oh.”

“And Dean is going to let me be a knight!”

Her brows shoot up, and she throws a suspicious look over his shoulder.

“You asked him?”

“Yes, and we fought, and he let me win, but he said I was very good, and if I train hard I’ll make a great knight someday. So — you were _wrong,_” Cas says, a little pleased, because sometimes it feels like Anna knows everything, which is fair, because she’s so much older, but it’s nice to have known something she didn’t.

Anna’s face contorts rather amusingly as he speaks, and when he’s done, she looks relieved, though she grabs his arm, leaning close.

“I’m happy for you, Cas — but you musn’t tell anyone else what happened, alright?”

Cas blinks.

“Why not? Isn’t that what was supposed to happen? You told me so.”

“When did I tell you that?”

“You said it would be uncomfortable, and it might hurt. Dean didn’t hurt me, though, even when he knocked me over,” he hastens to add, because Anna doesn’t like seeing him hurt, grumbles when he comes back from training all scraped and bruised.

She looks like she can’t decide whether to laugh or not.

“I suppose I did, didn’t I? Still. It’s — what happens in the wedding chamber is . . . supposed to be a secret!” she finishes, perking up. “It’s shameful to talk about it, even to Michael. You’ll make both us and Dean look bad, if you do.”

Cas stares.

“Oh — I didn’t — no one told me.”

Anna touches his face.

“It’s okay,” she assures him. “Just — don’t ever tell anybody else, alright?”

“Alright,” he agrees, and Anna pats his head.

“Good.”

There’s a warmth at Cas’s shoulder, and when he turns, Dean is looking curiously at them, apparently done chatting with — Bobby? — on his other side.

“Everything okay over here?” he asks, concerned, and Cas reddens.

_You’ll make both us and Dean look bad._

Cas doesn’t want to make Dean look bad. If Cas is going to be a knight of Lawrence, that makes Dean his Prince, and Cas must do his best to serve him well.

“Yes,” he says, and Dean studies him for a moment before offering a smile to Anna.

“Anna is my favorite sibling,” Cas informs him, because it feels important, and there’s something sharp in the way the two of them are looking at each other. It’s unsettling.

Dean seems to soften a little.

“Princess Anna,” he greets her, and she inclines her head.

“Prince Dean.”

They study each other for a long, calculating moment, and Cas thinks he can scent traces of alpha aggression coming from one or both of them, though he doesn’t know Dean’s scent yet.

He leans a little to his right, subtly sniffing. He’d thought Dean smelled nice, earlier, when he carried him to the bed, but Cas was too busy puzzling over the baffling tradition to pay too close attention. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone carried him anywhere, because why would they? He’s nearly fourteen, now.

Dean smells like the woods on a crisp, sunny fall day, though, and it makes Cas think of long, lovely hours participating in ‘training scenarios,’ though he has long suspected that was just Abner’s excuse to let the fledglings out to play in the forest.

He doesn’t realize he’s shut his eyes until his sister clears his throat. Dean is giving him an amused look.

“Sorry,” Cas says, unable to stop himself from lowering his gaze. “Everyone smells strange since I presented.”

Dean chuckles, ruffling Cas’s hair again, and Cas tilts ever so subtly into it. He doesn’t do it in an annoying way, like Cas’s brothers. It’s affectionate, like when Anna does it, though a little less softly done.

“Oh, I don’t miss those days,” he says. “Around here, you get pranked when you present.”

“Pranked?” Cas asks. When Cas presented, all that happened is suddenly he had to spend a lot of time sitting still in his bedroom being lectured.

“Yep. Had the whole pile of barracks laundry dumped on me when I went down for breakfast one morning. I couldn’t get out of bed for two days because of the smell.”

Cas shudders. For weeks after he presented, even the scent of his clean pillowcase made his nose itch, though the laundry was instructed not to use anything scented.

Beside him, Anna snickers, although Cas thinks she should be feeling sorry for Dean. Maybe she doesn’t remember how difficult her own presentation was.

“Ah. I wish I had been older than Michael,” she says wistfully, and it takes Cas a moment.

He can’t help but laugh.

“Anna, he’d be _furious,_” he tries, but the thought of Michael suffering under the pile of dirty laundry is a hundred times more amusing than when it was Dean. “He’d feel so _undignified._”

Anna’s laughing, too, now, and Dean grins at the pair of them.

“I’m guessing I’m not allowed to repeat any of this?”

“Please don’t,” Anna says, alarmed. “I hate spending time in the tower.”

“Anna has to go to the tower dungeon when she’s rude,” Cas explains, and Anna sighs.

“I’m rude a lot.”

Dean laughs.

“What about you, Cas? You ever spent time in the tower dungeon?”

“No, I’m very well-behaved,” Cas tells him proudly, and Anna drops her fork.

“You _liar_!” she exclaims, and shakes her head at Dean. “He’s _not. _ Innocent as he might be, I swear he’s just as bad as I am, only he doesn’t do it to your face. You should just _hear_ the little cracks he makes once we’ve left Michael. And God help you if Cas doesn’t like what you’ve had to say — as soon as you turn around, he’ll do the _exact _opposite of what you wanted!”

Cas gapes at Anna. She’s making him sound _terrible._ Cas has never talked back in his life — well, not exactly — and perhaps he expresses . . . _frustration, _with things, once the source is out of hearing range, but she makes him sound like a hellion of some kind.

Anna’s face has suddenly frozen, and she’s giving Dean a worried look, though he’s still chuckling.

“Not that — he isn’t disobedient,” she says quickly, and Dean stops laughing, brow furrowed. “He is occasionally spirited, but he follows instructions to the letter where it counts.”

Dean is quiet for a long moment, and Cas looks between them curiously.

“Spirit is good in a knight,” he says slowly. “I mean, obviously, if we’re headed into battle, I need to know he’ll do what he’s supposed to, and if someone gives him a direct order, that’s, you know — but, uh — we don’t — punish disobedience around here, not really.”

Anna relaxes a little.

“I see.”

“I’m not disobedient,” Cas points out helpfully, and Dean quirks his lips.

“Well, I’m not worried about it. You just worry about training, alright?”

That’s easy; Cas would love to be able to just focus on his training.

Well, and whatever diversions are to be found in a library, but Michael is stingy enough with books that that can only occupy so much of his time.

Although . . .

“Do you have a library?” Cas asks, and Dean looks surprised.

“Yeah. You like books?”

“Yes. But at home, I have to get permission to read a book, and I’m not allowed to touch most of them.” _Especially _not since he presented. All his favorite adventure tales disappeared off his shelf one night, and no amount of sulking or demands brought them back.

Dean squints, looking to the side.

“Uhhhh. I’m pretty sure you can read whatever you want? I mean, there might be a few things in there that, uh, you might wanna wait a few years, but — our librarian, Donna, can help you navigate.”

It sounds too good to be true, but Cas allows himself to hope.

“Thank you, Dean,” he enthuses, smiling up at him, and Dean’s eyes crinkle.

“Yeah, sure Cas.” And then he frowns, gently elbowing Cas’s ribs. “Eat up before it gets cold, man.”

Obediently, Cas eats, and though he’s conscious of Anna’s eyes on him, he ignores it.

Things are _finally _looking up.

Dean never thought he’d say this, but having a husband is a lot like having a second little brother.

Cas has sort of attached himself to Dean like a small puppy, and though he put on a brave face when it was time for the Edenish to leave, Dean could see the way he clung to his sister.

Anna had a few words to say to Dean, too.

“Cas told me about your wedding night,” she said bluntly, and Dean paled.

“You didn’t tell the ki—”

“Don’t be an idiot,” she snapped, and he breathed an honest-to-god sigh of relief. It’s not like he’d have broken his oath, but he didn’t want to see Naomi get beheaded or whatever it was Michael would do to her, nor did he want to see an important treaty fall to pieces over something he did.

And yeah, he also didn’t want Michael to whisk Cas back home, where he couldn’t read all the books he wanted and people thought it was any kind of acceptable to waste all that talent and training and not let Cas be a knight like he wanted.

“Look, I’m grateful to you. And I’m grateful that you’re letting him be a knight. I think — I’m going to miss him terribly, but I think he’s going to be happier here.”

“We’ll do our best,” Dean tells her, and she nods.

“If I were King, I’d let him do whatever the hell he wanted.”

Dean cracks a smile.

“I bet.”

“But I’m not. And Dean — I know fourteen may seem old, that he’ll only be a couple years away from being eligible for a post — but Cas has been very sheltered. He’s — he really is innocent.”

“Yeah,” Dean says slowly. “I kinda got that.”

She takes a deep breath, then takes a knee, baring her throat.

“Prince Dean. Please take care of my brother,” she asks, eyes lowered, and Dean just sort of gapes at her, because Anna is an Alpha Princess of Eden, third in line to the throne, and this is not a light display. Hell, he’s pretty sure she’d opt for a good old vacation to the tower dungeon rather than do this for her king.

“Uh. Yeah. Yes. I will, I swear.”

She stands, smoothing her tunic, and ignoring all the curious stares.

“Thank you.” She turns, touching Cas’s cheek as she passes him, and then disappears inside a carriage.

Cas doesn’t cry, but his shoulders shake a little, and Dean wraps an arm around him, giving him a squeeze.

“It’s okay, Cas. There’s letters, and we can figure out some visits or something.”

Cas nods, then buries his face unsettlingly close to Dean’s armpit, taking deep breaths while Dean rubs his back.

It’s kind of awkward, and Dean’s not sure if he should tell Cas it’s okay to cry or not, but Cas seems content to just lean into Dean, so Dean lets him.

Though honestly, Dean feels pretty sorry for Anna, too. Cas is obviously the baby of the family, and if it were him, boarding a carriage and leaving Sam behind with strangers . . .

Dean shudders. Yeah, no fucking thanks.

Cas tilts his head, propping his chin on Dean’s sternum.

“Dean?” he asks, and Dean smiles.

“It’s nothin’, Cas. How do you feel about some sparring?”

Cas brightens, pulling away.

“Really?”

“Yeah. Gotta catch you up, so you know how we do things in Lawrence.”

Cas tears off in the direction of the courtyard before Dean’s even finished talking, and with a snort, Dean jogs after him.

Anyway, Cas is constantly underfoot after that. Even when Dean is in the yard, training with Benny and Charlie and the others, Cas will sometimes sneak away from the field to come watch.

“Does everyone in your army fight like that?” he asks, completely unabashed at having been caught the first time. Dean leans against the building, doing his best to look disapproving, although it must not be working; Cas just keeps gazing up at him, openly curious.

“My team is the best of the best,” Dean explains. “But overall, yeah.”

Cas’s eyes shine.

“I’m going to be the best in your army, someday,” he informs Dean, and Dean would laugh, but Cas is dead serious, and Dean wouldn’t be surprised if it actually happened.

“You probably shouldn’t sneak away from training, then,” he teases, and Cas frowns.

“Shouldn’t I watch the best if I want to get better?” he counters.

“You should wait until Bobby brings you _all_ over here.”

Cas pouts.

“But no one told me that would happen.”

Dean just shakes his head.

“First of all, don’t do that. I’m not your sister, and it ain’t gonna work on me.” Mostly. Sammy can still doe-eye his way into getting Dean to share his stash of kitchen snacks with him.

“Do what?” Cas asks, clearly _pretending_ to be bewildered, because _like he doesn’t know. _Dean ignores him.

“Second of all, if you really wanna be the best, listen to Bobby. He knows what he’s talking about.”

Cas frowns.

“But _you’re_ the best. I want to listen to you.”

“Tough, kid. I’m not your teacher, and for the record, Bobby taught me all I know.”

“But—”

“If it’s that important to you, and you’re not worn out after you put in your full day, you and I can come out here before dinner and I’ll do what I can to help you improve. Fair?”

Cas lights up, and Dean feels a little smug_, _because when he made Sam that offer, Sam just sort of laughed and limped toward the Hall, shaking his head and muttering under his breath.

Of course, Sam’s sixteen and having some lame-ass love affair with the library, which somehow means he doesn’t want to spend every waking minute getting his ass kicked and having his big brother tell him what to do.

To be fair, though, Dean’ll go a lot easier on Cas than he would have on Sam, if only because the reverse is true. Sam can fight fucking dirty.

“Do you promise?”

Dean loops a pinky around Cas’s, grinning, and Cas sort of stares at their twined fingers, clearly confused. He’ll get used to Lawrence customs eventually, though.

“Promise. Well, until I go away, but whenever I’m here — yeah.”

Cas’s smile falters.

“You’re going away?”

“Yeah. Come the harvest, we’re going to the Eastern border. Hellenia always comes around causing trouble then.”

“You’re going to fight?

Dean arches a brow.

“Where do you think all those stories you hear about me come from, Cas?”

“Right. Of course. But—” Cas cuts off, frowning. “Won’t I go with you?”

Dean outright laughs, at that.

“Even if you were still training in Eden, would they send you anywhere?”

“No,” Cas says slowly, clearly perturbed. “But — oh, but we’re married. Doesn’t that mean I should go wherever you do?”

Dean pats his head.

“Maybe someday, but for right now, you’re not anywhere near ready to go off and fight.”

“But still — I could go with you.”

It’s kinda sweet, but Dean’s not even tempted for a moment. He’s pretty sure he gets what Anna was talking about, now, and even if he extracted a promise from Cas to stay ten miles back, safe and sound in a tent, Cas would probably find a way to get himself into trouble.

He understands, though. Cas is at that age, and even if he knows he’s not ready, there’s a part of him that’ll still want to get out there and fight the way he’s always wanted to.

“You’re more useful to me if you stay here,” Dean tells him. “Train with Bobby. You’d better be the best in your rank when I come back.”

Cas straightens up.

“I will be.”

“Good.” Dean jerks his head toward the training field. “I think you have somewhere to be, then?”

Cas sighs.

“Yes, Dean.”

He reluctantly marches off, and Dean returns to the courtyard, ignoring the questioning looks.

“Alright, where were we?”

The summer flies by like that, until it’s September and Dean only has a week left before he leaves.

He’s been busy with plans, had a little less time to help train Cas, but he gets away from a stuffy council meeting with his Dad and collects Cas from the barracks, and they spar in the yard for a good hour while the sun goes down.

Dean pushes a little harder than usual, because he’s going away and the lessons will have to stop for some indeterminate amount of time, and Cas is shaking by the time Dean decides to call it quits.

“You okay, buddy?”

“Yes.” Cas is grinning, wide and gummy. “I’ve improved, haven’t I? You pushed me harder today.”

“Yeah, I did. Just because I’m not gonna be here doesn’t mean you shouldn’t do extra practice, alright?”

“Of course, Dean.”

Dean takes a seat by the wall, leaning back, and Cas follows, perching next to him while they sip from their canteens.

“You’ll be gone by my birthday, won’t you?” Cas asks quietly, and Dean bumps his shoulder.

“Yeah. But everybody’s got strict instructions to throw you a huge party and have a lot of fun. And Sam’ll be here.”

Dean’s been pleased to see how well Sam and Cas have been getting along. Endearing though Cas’s attachment to Dean — more like to Dean’s extra training, but whatever — is, Dean figures he should probably have friends closer to his own age.

He seems to be getting more comfortable with his barrack-mates, though. Cas is blunt and decisive, and yet, he’s strangely shy around his peers.

But he seems to be in a good place, now. Dean’s not too worried about leaving him. Even if Dean manages to get himself killed in the light scuffles they’re expecting at the border, Cas should be just fine.

“Did you — um, did you get me a present?” Cas ventures, tentative, and Dean arches a brow.

“You’ll probably get a lot of presents.”

“But did _you _get me one?” Cas presses, giving Dean an annoyed look, and Dean pretends to be surprised.

“Huh. Was I supposed to?”

Cas scowls.

“Yes.”

“Are you sure?”

“_Yes._ We — we’re _married,_” he declares abruptly. “I’m sure you’re supposed to get me a birthday present.”

Dean bites back a laugh. He’s not sure how things are in Eden, but it’s become abundantly clear that Cas has _no fucking clue _ what being married actually means, and because of that, every time he wants something or wants Dean to do something, he tries to justify it by saying, ‘Well, we’re married, so I’m _sure _it would be the proper thing.’

“That’s a pretty good argument, Cas,” he says, and Cas nods eagerly.

“Yes. Are you going to get me a present, then?”

“Wait and see, buddy,” Dean tells him cheerfully, and tousles Cas’s hair.

Cas just slumps against the wall, sullen. For an incredibly disciplined soldier-in-training, he’s kind of a brat, sometimes.

Spoiled Edenish princes, Dean supposes. Whatever. He’s a good kid, so Dean doesn’t mind.

“Will you write me while you’re away?” Cas asks, then adds pointedly, “Anna sends me letters.”

Cas hoards her letters like gold; Meg, one of Cas’s barrack mates, thought it would be funny to hide the letters from him, and Bobby had to break up an all-out brawl right there on the field.

Dean was so fucking pissed when Cas came to the courtyard, lip split, and even more so when he heard whose fault it was.

“You kicked her ass, right?” Dean asked him, because Meg was two years older, bigger, and an alpha to boot, but Dean was pretty sure Cas could take her.

“Not quite. Bobby interrupted. But I _would _have,” Cas growled, and Dean believed it.

Meg had a black eye when she came to dinner, though, so Dean’s pretty sure Cas got in more hits than he let on.

Anyway, letters seem to be a big deal, and while Dean may not be Cas’s favorite sibling, he thinks Cas is reasonably attached to him — will probably miss him a little, when he goes.

“Yeah. When I’ve got time.”

Cas nods.

“Don’t forget.”

“I won’t.”

“You forget things sometimes—”

“Hey, I always remember.”

Cas purses his lips.

“No, you don’t.”

“I’m busy, okay?” Dean protests, mock-offended, and Cas rolls his eyes.

“That’s not an acceptable excuse for not writing letters, for the record,” he sasses, and Dean chuckles.

“Alright. I’ll tell Benny to remind me.”

Dean doesn’t _think _he’ll forget, but you never know.

They sit for a while, since dinner won’t be ready until after sundown, and Dean gets lost in thought, enough that he doesn’t notice Cas drooping until his head lands on Dean’s shoulder.

Dean puts an arm around him; a nice little nap in the courtyard before dinner does a growing boy good, and it’s not like Dean’s got anywhere else to be, so whatever.

Still, though; he chances a glance down at Cas, absentmindedly petting his hair, like Sam doesn’t let him do anymore. In sleep, Cas is even softer, youth and innocence masking all the fire and determination of his waking self, and Dean just — he knows Michael’s interests were totally self-serving, that the minute Cas presented, he took advantage of him as a bartering chip — but in this moment, Dean can’t help himself. He’s suddenly overwhelmed by a fierce gratitude that, whatever the reason, Michael gave him to Dean to protect, because now that Dean’s gotten to know him, he’s not really sure Cas would have been okay anywhere else.

And even if he would — Dean’s still going to make sure he does better here.

_September 18_ _th_

_ Dear Dean,_

_ I hope all is well with you and the others. My birthday was  wonderful_. _I received your gift, and as soon as I made it back to the barracks, I started this letter._

_ Thank you, thank you, thank you. I love it. Bobby has forbidden me from using it during practice, but still _ — _ in Eden, I would not be given my own sword like that until I was sixteen. Perhaps Lawrence is different, but I am more pleased than I could tell you. I _ _believe_ _ you must be the best husband in all of history._

_ Now that you’re far away, and can’t retaliate, Sam has told me when your birthday is. I don’t think I will be able to get you something as nice as what you’ve given me, but I’ll try to think of something._

_ I like living in the barracks, with everyone else; and I like spending time in the library with Sam _ — _ but it is startling how quiet everything seems now that you’re gone._

_ I hope you frighten Hellenia away quickly._

_ Yours,_

_ Castiel_

_ October 2_ _nd_

_ Dear Cas,_

_ I’m glad you liked your present. Tell Sam he’s a bitch._

_ I’m sorry I haven’t written you sooner. It’s usually quiet enough, with just the occasional skirmish, but Hellenia came in punching and things have hardly let up. We’re a little worried there’s something more going on here. Certainly, I don’t know about frightening them away._

_ Don’t worry about my birthday, Cas. Just keep training hard._

_I’ll try and write again soon. I look forward to seeing you in a month or two._

_ Dean_

Hellenia doesn’t let up until the heavy winter storms start, and by the time Dean makes it back home in mid-December, it’s clear that the worst of winter is just a reprieve. Come the spring, they’ll be heading back to the border — and it’s anyone’s guess for how long.

Still, he’s happy to be home. Sam pretty much sprints across the bridge as soon as the party is within sight, and Dean pretends to be going in for a hug before he puts Sam over his shoulder and runs around in haphazard circles, Sam making hilariously shrill noises and flapping his arms all the while.

It’s a _lot _harder than it was last time, but it’s doable, and it’s totally worth it; Sam looks traumatized by the time Dean puts him down.

“I’m _sixteen,_” he insists, and Dean shrugs.

“And still scrawny as hell. Where’s dinner?”

“In the hall, with Cas. He has a bad cold, so Bobby wouldn’t let him come out.”

Dean shakes his head.

“He tried?”

“Oh, yeah. Bobby literally had to seize him by his tunic to keep him from darting out after me.”

“He knows I’ll be coming in, right?”

Sam rolls his eyes.

“Dude, he missed you a lot. You’re like, eighty percent of what he talks about. And even though he had a fever all last week, he kept trying to sneak out to train so you wouldn’t be disappointed in him.”

Dean frowns.

“I wouldn’t be disappointed. Jesus, when I told him to train hard, I didn’t mean to kill himself.” He shakes his head. “I’ll have a talk with him.”

“Yeah, good luck with that,” Sam mutters, and Dean suspects he won’t be the first one.

Whatever; Cas took the knight thing this seriously before he came to Lawrence, so Dean refuses to take responsibility here.

The Hall is blissfully warm after the chilly, endless-seeming ride here, and Cas is bouncing in his chair, one of Bobby’s hands pressing down firmly on his shoulder.

Dean grins, dropping into the chair beside him, and Cas swivels, lighting up, although — jesus, he looks terrible. His eyes are red and watery, face blotchy, and he’s clearly in desperate need of a tissue.

“Dude, why aren’t you in bed?” Dean says, by way of greeting, and Cas looks offended.

“Because you were coming home.”

“I would have come and seen you after dinner,” Dean protests, and Cas scowls.

“I know,” he says stiffly. “I didn’t want to wait.”

“Suit yourself. Have you eaten?”

Cas lets out a long-suffering sigh, only to follow it up with a wet sniff.

“_No,_” he grits out. “I was waiting for _you._”

Dean rolls his eyes, grabbing the empty plate in front of Cas and scouting out sick-friendly foods. Once he’s satisfied with the assembly on Cas’s plate, he slides it back in front of him, catching a strong whiff of the kid as he sits back down.

He leans back, catching Bobby’s eye.

“Seriously?” he demands, and Bobby has the nerve to glower. “He smells _awful, _Bobby.”

“You think I don’t have better things to do than babysit him?”

“I don’t need a babysitter,” Cas complains, although he leans into his shoulder a little, sniffing. “And I don’t smell like anything.”

Dean stares at him, aghast, and wordlessly pushes his handkerchief under Cas’s nose before it runs right off his face.

“Oh. Thank you, Dean.” Cas blows his nose loudly, and it’s a struggle for Dean not to inch away.

“Sure. You’re taking a bath and going straight to bed after this, alright?”

Cas frowns, reaching for a cup of tea by his plate.

“But Sam said you always tell stories when you come back.”

“If I promise to save all the stories until tomorrow, will you take a bath and go to bed?”

Cas hesitates.

“Alright,” he agrees reluctantly, and Dean sighs.

“Okay. You’re at least staying in the castle while you’re sick, right?”

Bobby harrumphs from Cas’s other side.

“Fool boy refused.”

“Cas,” Dean admonishes, and Cas narrows his eyes. “Seriously?”

“I don’t know why I should stay in the castle just because of a cold.”

“Everybody stays in the castle when they’re sick.”

“But I’m used to sleeping in the barracks.”

“But you can’t be the best knight in Lawrence if you die of flu,” Dean shoots back.

Cas sniffs again.

“It’s a cold.”

“Yeah, and how long have you had it, again?”

“Only a week.”

“You’re sleeping in the castle.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Tough. You’ve got a room up there. I’ll show you after dinner.”

“You can’t _make _ me,” Cas mutters, and Dean takes a deep breath and silently counts to ten. Based on what he knows of Eden’s customs regarding omegas, it’s a good fucking thing Cas didn’t stay there, else he’d probably end up moving _permanently_ into the tower dungeon.

“Tell you what, man. How about you stay in the castle, and I’ll tell you some of my stories _before _ you go to bed?” _But after your bath, _Dean adds silently, because even though he knows no amount of soap is going to wash the sick smell away, that’s definitely not all that’s going on here.

Cas considers this.

“I don’t want to sleep by myself.”

“Okay, then sleep in my room.”

Bobby gives him a sharp look at that, but Dean can’t even begin to guess what’s twisting his long underwear, so he ignores it.

“Okay,” Cas agrees readily, and returns to his meal with gusto, like the brat didn’t just start a fucking fight about where he was going to sleep.

Dean watches him suspiciously, but Cas just looks at his plate, taking demure bites of this and that and pausing occasionally to blow his nose in Dean’s handkerchief.

Well, _the _handkerchief. No way in hell does Dean want it back, now.

Eventually, Dean remembers to eat as well, and by the time he’s done eating and catching up with Sam, he’s forgotten to be annoyed.

Cas tries to refuse a bath, on account of the cold, but Dean threatens to send him to his own room if he _doesn’t. _There’s mysteriously little argument before Cas disappears into the bath room, and when he comes back out in pajamas and immediately burrows under the blankets, there’s a muffled admission that he feels better.

Dean rolls his eyes.

“Well, I’m gonna go take _my _bath now. Don’t suffocate under there.”

Of course, Cas is sound asleep when Dean comes out.

Dean wakes up first, mostly because of the cold, and half-falling off the bed because there’s a Cas-shaped lump right in the middle, carefully ensconced by blankets like some kind of ground vole.

“Don’t know why you couldn’t have done that in your own damn room,” Dean mutters, but tucks his meager scrap of blanket around Cas before he goes down for breakfast.

He’s enjoying coffee and good-natured morning conversation with his brother and some of the people who hadn’t gone to the border with him, when there’s a loud crash and Cas storms in, appearing for all intents and purposes like he might challenge Dean to a duel.

He comes to a stop in front of Dean, surprisingly menacing despite the steady drip of his nose.

“You didn’t tell me stories,” he accuses, and the table falls silent, though they’re clearly amused.

“You fell asleep.”

“You should have woken me up.”

“You’re _sick._”

Cas’s mouth tightens.

“Did I miss the stories?”

Actually — well. It doesn’t really count as _telling stories _if Dean was just making breakfast conversation.

“No?” he says, but he must sound unsure, because Cas looks outraged.

“You have!”

“I have not!”

Cas turns to the table.

“Has he?” he asks them, which is just _unfair._

But whatever. Dean’s army would never sell him out to a grumpy fourteen-year-o-

“A few,” Garth answers, good-natured as you please, and Charlie smothers giggles into her sleeve beside him.

“I see,” Cas grits out, and turns back to Dean. “You told stories without me, and you _lied_.”

“Cas,” Dean cajoles, but Cas just gives him an unimpressed look and plunks down next to him.

“I’m going to eat breakfast now.”

“Someone could have brought it to you.”

Cas gives him a withering glare.

“For your information, I feel _a lot _better today.”

Dean smirks.

“Yeah? Sounds like a bath and sleeping in the castle did you some good.”

Cas’s expression turns stormy.

“It did _not. _I was getting better, anyway.”

“Sure you were,” Dean mumbles, and based on the look Cas gives him, Dean should probably be glad he doesn’t have a practice sword with him.

And yet, Dean can’t resist reaching over and ruffling his hair, just as he’s trying to take a bite of egg, a move that would have had Sam at least throwing a piece of toast at him.

And Cas does freeze, egg falling off his spoon — but then he just sort of leans into Dean, sighing, and says, “I missed you.”

Cas returns to his breakfast, considerably more relaxed, and Dean just sits there, startled, trying to figure out how to tell Cas that now that he’s a Winchester, it’s a little weird to just _say _shit like that.

Whatever, Dean decides, shrugging. Cas is young; he’ll learn.

Besides, it’s kinda sweet.

Cas is . . . not happy that Dean will be going off in the Spring, for an indeterminate amount of time — especially when Dean mentions that, if Hellenia engages them in full-scale war, that indeterminate amount of time could be over a year.

“Aren’t you your father’s heir?” Cas demands. “How can you go away for that long?”

Dean’s a little frustrated, honestly; Cas’s odd brand of hero-worship doesn’t seem to have survived his irritation that Dean has other things to do besides train him and entertain him, and while there was no sign of Cas’s random contrariness or bad mood after breakfast that morning, it appears to be back in full force.

Sam was like this, too, he reminds himself; still can be. They’re both stubborn, questioning personality types and adolescence brings out the worst of that.

Thank God _Dean _isn’t like that.

“If I can’t lead an army into battle, I can’t lead a kingdom. That’s not how this works.”

“Michael never went to battle.”

Dean snorts.

“Yeah, I can tell.”

“The people need a ruler.”

“Sam’ll do it if I die.”

Cas looks like he’s been struck.

“You can’t die.”

“I’m human, buddy—”

“And what about when Sam is old enough to go with you?”

“If we die defending the kingdom, we die defending the kingdom. We’re knights. This is just the way we do things.”

“It’s a stupid way!” Cas snaps, stalking across Dean’s bedroom floor, fists clenching and unclenching. “And stop talking about _dying._”

“Cas,” Dean says firmly, and Cas stops. “What the hell, man? You’re the one who wants to grow up and do this, too.”

Cas legitimately _growls _at Dean, and Dean is so surprised he nearly laughs.

He’s pretty sure Cas would _not _appreciate it, though.

“That’s _different. _ No one — no one _needs _me for anything.”

Dean frowns. He’s not great at the feelings thing, but Cas’s agitation is pinging his radar like crazy, and this little comment cinches it.

“How’re you doing, Cas?” Dean asks abruptly, to the point.

“What?”

“I was away for a while. How are you — settling in? Lawrence is pretty different from Eden. You’re living in the barracks with a lot of other people. Are you doing okay, making friends?”

Cas is looking at him like he’s crazy.

“What? Are you — trying to change the subject?”

Dean sighs, rubbing his face.

“Listen, Cas. I bet you get homesick. And instead of helping you, you know, adjust, when you got here, I went right to training you in all your free time—”

“I wanted you to—”

“But that means, maybe, you got used to spending a lot of time with me. “

“I — don’t understand.”

“I, uh. I think maybe you thought you missed me more than you did.”

Cas gives him a scathing look.

“I missed you very much, Dean. Although right now I’m not sure _why._”

“Sure, but — livin’ in a new place takes time. And see, you did alright without me, didn’t you? So the longer I’m gone, the more you’ll get used to it, and uh, you won’t worry so much.”

Cas just stands there, head tilted.

“I’m very confused,” he announces, and Dean sighs.

“Look, I get it. You’re worried I’ll go off and die and you won’t have a place at home, but you won’t have a place here, either, and I just want you to know that whatever happens to me, you’ll be okay. If you stay here, you’ll keep training to be a knight, and everyone’ll keep lookin’ out for you, and hell, when you’re all grown up, you can find somebody and get married for real and do whatever you want.”

Cas blinks.

“We are married for real, Dean.”

“Right, legally, but — I mean you’ll get to choose somebody that you like.”

Cas looks upset.

“I like you a lot, Dean. Why would I want to choose someone else? Especially if it’s because you _died._”

Right, because Dean’s army is surprisingly sensitive in their soft, gooey centers, and despite living in the barracks, Cas is still woefully oblivious to the realities of his situation.

“Never mind,” Dean mutters. “You’ll get it when you’re older.”

Cas huffs.

“Don’t tell me that. I hate when people tell me that.”

“Yeah, well, you should probably get used to it. Anyway, all I’m sayin’ is, you shouldn’t feel like you need me or anything. If something happens to me, you’ll be fine. Alright?”

Cas throws up his hands.

“That’s not what I’m worried about!”

“Then what _are _you worried about?”

Cas just stares at him, utterly enraged — and then storms out of the room.

Dean stews in his confusion for a few minutes, but then he decides there’s nothing to figure out.

Because Cas is _fourteen, _ and just now, all of that? Was because that’s what fourteen-year-olds fucking _do. _They get cranky and they pick at you over something stupid and you just gotta wait them out.

Cas’ll be fine tomorrow, Dean figures, and wanders to the kitchen in search of a snack.

Dean doesn’t come after him, which feels a little bad, but Cas knows Dean is busy and he’s angry at Dean, anyway, so perhaps it’s just as well.

When Cas turned seven and all he wanted to do was train, Anna gave him a set of books for his birthday, and told him he’d better read, too. ‘If all you train is your body, and not your mind, you will only ever be half the knight you could be.’

Cas didn’t entirely understand, but he certainly wanted to be the best he could be, so he read them; in doing so, he discovered he very much enjoyed reading, and later on, when he proved to be much better at strategy and navigating the training scenarios than his peers, Cas credited his reading habits with his success.

And now, trying to have what should have been a completely unnecessary conversation with Dean — well, Cas thinks Dean could have benefited from spending more time in his wonderful library, is all.

That’s where Cas heads now, since he still has to carry a pile of handkerchiefs with him and Bobby’s banned him from the training yard.

“Aw, why the long face, sweetpea?” Donna greets him, and Cas sighs, opting to join her at the table before he goes to browse.

“Dean is an assbutt.”

One of the best parts about living in Lawrence is that Cas is allowed to say things like ‘ass’ and nobody bats an eye.

Although, there are surprisingly many good parts about living in Lawrence.

Donna chuckles.

“Hoo boy. Yeah, I’ve heard this one before, but never from you. What’s he gone and done?”

“He thinks I don’t want him to die because I’m afraid to be in Lawrence by myself,” Cas complains.

“What? You’re not, are you? You know we’ll all take good care of you if something happens to Dean.”

“I do. And I think since we’re married, Michael couldn’t make me go back to Eden. But _Dean _thinks I’m stupid, apparently, and he thought if he just reassured me I’d have a place here and still become a knight, him dying wouldn’t matter.”

Donna hums.

“Silly boy,” she says, shaking her head.

“He’s supposed to be king some day,” Cas continues. “He’s going to make a _great _ king. And I think Sam would, too, but if they’re both off fighting in battles and nearly dying — who _knows _ what will happen to everyone else? I read about King Roman, and he was terrible. Not just _anyone _ can do this. His people need him, and Dean is — well, he’s being an _assbutt._”

Donna chuckles.

“Well, Dean is a good leader. But maybe it’s the army that needs leading right now?”

Cas hesitates.

“But —” He cuts off. “It just — it seems like a stupid risk. The kingdom _needs _Dean. I don’t see why he can’t lead from afar, like his father does.”

Donna squeezes his arm.

“I understand that you’re worried about . . .” she pauses. “The _kingdom. _But you should give Dean a little credit. He’s the best of the best, and he’ll come back. And even if he doesn’t, the kingdom really will be okay. The kingdom is pretty strong, too.”

Cas eyes her suspiciously, although he can’t pick out anything particularly wrong with what she’s saying.

“I suppose.”

“There’s a good boy,” Donna enthuses. “Now, I’ve got this new book about dragons I think you’ll like . . .”

Cas feels exponentially better after starting the book on dragons, and it is with a much clearer head that he goes down to dinner.

The wary look Dean gives him when he sits down sort of makes Cas want to start throwing things again, but he’s a mature knight-in-training and he pushes the feeling aside.

“Hey, Cas. How’re you feeling?”

“Good.”

“Alright. That’s good.”

Cas waits a few moments, and is satisfied when Dean automatically reaches for Cas’s plate. Cas isn’t sure _why_ he does this, but when Dean was home last summer, he typically prepared Cas’s plate for him, even if he was in the middle of a conversation and didn’t seem to realize he was doing it.

And Cas might normally object to not being able to choose his own food, but Lawrence cuisine is much better than Eden’s overall, and Dean proved to be a quick study on which foods Cas liked or didn’t like, so the attention is mostly just _nice._

Dean doesn’t do that for anyone else, Cas has noted; Dean also doesn’t provide extra training for anyone else, and things like that make Cas feel special, in some strange way.

It’s a nice feeling.

Anyway, Cas has decided that, while it doesn’t make particularly good sense for the heir to the throne to spend months upon months in the thick of fighting, he has no influence here, and if Dean is going to leave _again, _especially for that long . . . Cas doesn’t want to spend the few months he has being angry at him, even if Dean kind of deserves it.

“Thank you, Dean.”

“Sure.” Dean studies Cas for a moment, and then smiles. “Find any good books today?”

“Yes. Donna gave me one about dragons.”

“Ah. Nothing like a good ol’ dragonslaying tale to make you wanna get back to training.”

“Yes, but actually, this book was about people who turn _into _dragons.”

Dean cocks his head.

“Like — a curse?”

“No — they change back and forth. And they fight alongside the people.”

“Huh. Okay. Sounds pretty cool.”

“It is. I wouldn’t hate being able to turn into a dragon.”

Dean snickers.

“You kind of do, sometimes.”

Cas narrows his eyes.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Right? Who knows.”

Dean is _definitely _an assbutt.

Cas takes the high road, though, simply moving on to summarize the story for Dean’s benefit as they eat, and when they’ve finished, he follows Dean back to his chambers.

“What, we’re not gonna fight about you sleeping in the castle?” Dean snarks, and Cas doesn’t remember him being this _difficult _last summer.

“No. I slept very well last night. Thank you,” he adds, because he _is _polite and well-behaved, no matter what Anna says.

Dean smiles.

“S’what’s important. Bath should be ready,” he adds, jerking his head to the side once they’re in the room, and Cas’s face falls.

“What? But I had a bath last night.”

“A hot bath is good when you’re sick.”

“But it’s _cold. _ Wet hair is _bad _when you’re sick.”

“Well, then I’ll help you dry it and then you can wear a sleeping cap.”

“But sleeping caps are _itchy._”

Dean looks like he’s trying not to laugh, although there’s absolutely nothing funny about him _torturing _ a _sick _person.

“We’ll figure something out. Go bathe.”

Cas wants to argue, but last night Dean threatened to send him to his own room, so with a great deal of resentment, he complies.

It’s not that Cas hates being in the bath; a bath is rather pleasant while you’re in it. He just doesn’t like stepping out into the cold air, afterward, or the feeling of being all wet even after he’s supposedly dried off.

And sleeping caps _are _itchy.

When he comes out, Dean has a second dry towel, and he instructs Cas to lie down while he uses it to dry his hair as best he can.

Cas is grateful, a little soothed by the feeling of the towel moving briskly across his head — but then Dean throws the damp towel on Cas’s face afterward and he’s not grateful _at all._

He expresses this via aggressive application of pillow to Dean’s face, but eventually, they settle down and Cas curls up on his side of the bed feeling surprisingly content, given the many trials he’s faced this evening.

“Good night, Dean,” he whispers. Dean chuckles.

“’Night, Cas.”

Cas fell asleep while Dean was in the bath last night, and although Cas is eager to return to the barracks, there’s something nice about saying good night to Dean from this close, instead of in the dining hall before they go their separate ways.

He drifts off quickly, likely due to still being sick, and when he wakes up the next morning, he feels better than he has in days.

Shoots of green appear mid-March, and Cas hates them with a vengeance, because it means that Dean and the others begin preparations to leave again.

Now that Dean’s been home a few months, Cas can say with certainty that he improves much faster when Dean is training him in the evenings, too. He broaches the topic with Bobby, who readily agrees, but when Cas tries to suggest that maybe he should ride out with the others, Bobby won’t hear it.

“Dean’ll have a million other things to do besides train you. I wish there were two of ‘im — actually, no, I don’t — but there ain’t, and you’ve gotta just sit tight on your own here ‘til he can come back, alright? Besides, if you left, you’d miss your day training, and then where would you be?”

It’s the answer Cas expected, but he’s still not _happy _about it.

In any case, it’s a struggle, having Dean there, eating meals with him and training with him and sneaking off to watch him in the courtyard, knowing all the while that Dean will be leaving soon.

It hit Cas, as they returned to the hall after their evening session one day, that Dean might be going away for longer even than he’s known Cas. The time they’ll spend apart might soon be greater than the time they’ve spent together.

It’s such a lonely thought, Cas feigns illness and asks to sleep in the castle with Dean. Upsettingly, Dean tries to talk him into sleeping in his own room, and when Cas brilliantly points out that all the dust will make it worse, Dean gets this defeated look and excuses himself to go exchange brief words with a blonde woman at the other end of the hall.

She looks disappointed. Cas asks Dean about it, while they walk up to his room, but Dean is frustratingly evasive.

Perhaps Sam will tell him, tomorrow.

Anyway, Cas argues a little about the bath, because a very strange part of him enjoys it, but eventually he relents, and Dean dries his hair for him once he’s out before directing him to get under an intimidatingly large pile of blankets.

And Cas would be delighted, were he _actually _sick, but being perfectly well and having spent an active day followed by a large, warm meal . . . the blankets are stifling, to the point that Cas struggles to sleep and sweats so much he resentfully considers the bath to have been a waste.

He endures this for no more than two hours before he looks over at Dean, comfortably oblivious beneath his sheet and quilt, and makes up his mind.

In Eden, a lot of touching was unseemly — although Anna never withheld hugs and pats on the head and handholding in private — but Cas doesn’t think that’s the case here. Dean and Sam constantly wrestle with each other, and Dean will often sling an arm around Sam or Cas if he’s walking beside them.

And of course, ruffling their hair seems to be chief among his favorite things.

In light of that, Cas decides to risk Dean being annoyed in the morning, shimmying out from under his pile of blankets and curling up close beside him, relishing in the blissful cool to be found there.

It never occurs to him to just push the blankets off, and even though by morning, Cas is burrowed up against Dean's side and drooling on his sleeve, Dean just chuckles when he sees what’s happened.

“If your barrack-mates could see you now,” he teases, and Cas lurches upright and shoves a pillow at him, discreetly wiping his mouth while Dean’s distracted.

He’s glad he’s not in trouble, but his heart aches a little.

He’s going to miss Dean very much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * SPOILERS *
> 
> Regarding Dean/others:  
Anna notes rumors that Dean never lacks for partners. A past relationship with Lisa is mentioned. Later on, it is implied that Dean had made plans with an unnamed female character, though these plans fall through when Cas insists on sleeping in Dean's room.


	2. Part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: Light violence and attempted kidnapping (I finished this story a year ago and forgot about this scene when doing the original notes, so I apologize), discussions of sex, mentions of Dean/others. More details on these warnings in the end notes if you are concerned. Please let me know if you feel like I’ve left something out.

Despite all of Cas’s worries, a year goes by quickly.

Two months after Dean leaves, Cas experiences his first heat. It’s terribly uncomfortable, leaving his skin feeling clammy and itchy and giving him an all-over body ache. All he wants to do is hide in his bed and curse the gods for devising such a thing, but Ellen assures him that so long as he drinks plenty of water, doing his training as usual will go a long way to alleviating the symptoms.

He’s relieved to find she’s right, and by the end of the first day, his discomforts are a mild background nuisance.

Less reassuringly, she warns him they get worse as he gets older, though he shouldn’t have another one for half a year at least.

Cas, for his part, is incredibly disappointed in his body, even more so than the time he passed out during training when he took ill last winter. It seems _extremely _disagreeable that it should have the nerve to do anything other than exactly what he wants it to.

Anyway, it passes completely within the week, and he promptly forgets all about it.

Summer comes, and it brings them perilously close to the dissolution of the treaty when Michael arrives to celebrate its one year anniversary a day earlier than anticipated. It’s been a rainy week, and the day is no exception; Cas and his barrack-mates are restless from it, and Jo and Sam come to coax them into a game of sorts, wherein each team has a random object and must strategically move it around the grounds so the other team doesn’t find it.

The game grows heated very quickly, and when Cas, the current bearer of his team’s wooden figure, is just returning from stashing it, he chances upon Jo as she comes from the kitchens with snacks.

They stare at each other for a long moment.

And then Jo calmly begins to set down her basket.

Cas immediately starts sprinting back to the hiding spot, snatching the figure up and racing off, weaving around the castle in an effort to evade her. He’s already a mess from playing around all day, and by the time Jo catches him, kicking his foot out from under him, Cas shows more mud than skin.

They wrestle for a bit, Jo clearly determined to win, but even though Cas is still just a little smaller, he’s faster. He wriggles out of her grasp, clutching the figure close until he gets in a hit to her chest — not enough to cause damage, but enough to wind her — and she falters, gasping for breath. He seizes the opportunity to squirm free and starts running, winding down a little pathway in a shortcut to the courtyard, though he’s sure Jo will be coming after him in no time at all. If he can just hand it off to someone else before she sees—

He bursts into the courtyard, slip-sliding across the muddy stones a little bit, and sees Alfie standing guard by a door at the other end. Oblivious to the crowd just inside the gate, Cas makes a beeline for him, tearing past their visitors so quickly a few speckles of mud fly off of him.

There’s a few gasps, but Cas isn’t deterred until he hears _Michael’s _voice, so shockingly out of place he skitters to a halt, whipping his head around to where his brother, at the front of his entourage, is still looking away, at Bobby.

Bobby is not looking back, probably because he has his face buried in his hands.

Michael smiles serenely.

“How strange,” he remarks. “That disheveled hooligan bore a striking resemblance to my dear, gentle brother.”

Cas has no idea what to say to that, partly because he’s just realized this is maybe Not Good and partly because Jo has just appeared on the other side of the courtyard, catching sight of him and streaking across like she’s possessed.

“Wait—” Cas starts, but then she tackles him and he goes down, Jo merrily whacking him with the wooden practice swords they’re all carrying for the game the moment she has him on the ground.

“_Jo,_” Bobby barks, and she freezes, whipping her head around in surprise.

There’s a long, terrible silence.

And then Cas hears his sister start laughing.

Michael has . . . _opinions, _about how Cas is being kept, and that phrasing alone sort of makes Cas want to start beating him with his own wooden sword.

Perhaps Cas _is _becoming a little uncivilized.

“And where is his alpha?” Michael demands of John, who looks _incredibly _tired.

“Hellenia has all but declared war at the border. My son is leading our army.”

“But he’s your _heir,_” Michael sputters.

“We discussed this during the treaty,” John points out. “Our custom there differs from yours.”

“Yes, yes, but he’s _married _now. Who will protect his omega while he is away?”

Cas can only assume by ‘his omega,’ Michael means ‘Castiel.’

He’s cross, either way, enough that he takes a moment to reflect on how nice it is that Michael is no longer his king.

“The entire castle,” John says bluntly. “And from what I hear, Castiel is becoming adept enough at that on his own. Now, surely you and your people would like some rest and refreshments—”

“Your son should at least wait until he’s produced an heir,” Michael insists, still irate, and a silence falls across the hall.

It goes on for a long, tense moment.

“Castiel will be fifteen in September,” John finally says, tone uncharacteristically delicate (from what Cas has heard, anyway), and Michael makes a face.

“Obviously, now is perhaps not ideal — though of course it would be your son’s choice,” Michael hastens to add, and Cas can only describe the look on John’s face as nauseated — or ‘grossed out,’ as Dean would say.

“His choice would be to wait at least another year,” John says, and Michael nods.

“I certainly don’t disagree with that. _However, _it seems . . . improper, that he would not exercise more care before that time comes.”

“Hellenia’s not going to wait on us to make an heir."

Michael sniffs.

“Is your son’s presence so necessary for border skirmishes?”

“The situation could devolve at any moment, and yes, it is.”

Michael purses his lips, and Cas is delighted to realize his brother can’t simply throw his weight around here and have his way.

“Very well. My party would like to rest,” he says stiffly, and John looks relieved.

“Of course. We’ve prepared rooms. Tara?”

Michael allows himself to be led out of the council room, and behind him, Anna makes eye contact with Cas and lifts a brow.

Cas suppresses a grin.

“Bobby,” he whispers, once they’re gone. “May I be excused from training for the rest of the day?”

Bobby rolls his eyes.

“Is that what y’all call that? Go ahead.”

Cas beams back at him, causing Bobby’s lips to twitch.

“And by the way, I think I heard tell they’d be puttin’ your sister in the Blue room.”

Cas hadn’t even given a thought to how he’d find her, but he’s deeply grateful to Bobby for anticipating this.

“Thank you!” he whispers, and then he races off to meet her.

Anna is thrilled to see him and insists she doesn’t need a nap, so they set up a chess board and she tells him what he’s missed in Eden.

Not a lot, except Michael’s usual ridiculousness, including new petty grudges he’s holding and who might have been sent to the tower dungeon in one of his fits of pique.

“And you?” Cas prompts, giving her an arch look, and she smiles.

“I grow more discreet by the day.”

“And Michael’s a fool,” Cas says, as they both often do, and Anna grins.

“And Michael’s a fool,” she agrees.

Then, although it’s her turn, she sits back from the board and looks at him.

“You’ve written me a lot — which I appreciate — but how are you, Cas?”

He considers this.

“Very well,” he decides. “Although I don’t know when Dean will return.”

Anna nods slowly.

“You seem to have grown very attached to him.”

“Of course. Dean is —” Cas isn’t really sure how to describe him, how to use words to explain all the things that make Dean so — _attachable, _but then he decides it’s not important. “Dean is my prince, and my husband, and when he’s home, he teaches me to fight. I _should_ be attached to him, shouldn’t I?”

“I suppose,” she agrees, studying him. “How much did you understand of Michael and John’s conversation?”

Cas shrugs.

“Michael disapproved of Dean going to the border. I did, too,” he confesses. “Though I understand why it has to be that way.”

“Is that all?”

Cas blinks, thinking about it.

“And Michael asked about heirs.”

“Right.” Anna grimaces.

“Why does he care if we make heirs?”

“Honestly? If Dean dies and you haven’t given him an heir, then it jeopardizes the value of the marriage to the treaty. Lawrence has no incentive to treat you well, or to consider you an important connection to Eden, and you would have no power or sway here.”

“Oh. But Dean said I could stay here, that I could be a knight — that everyone would take care of me anyway.”

“And they might. But Michael doesn’t c— that is, he’s more preoccupied with what it means for Eden. Even if they take care of _you, _they could change their stance on us.”

“Oh.”

Anna studies him, then abruptly asks:

“Cas, do you — do you know how heirs are made?”

Cas hesitates. Now that there’s no Michael to make him stay in the castle when he’s not actually training, far from the other fledglings and higher ranking trainees, he’s privy to many conversations he wouldn’t otherwise be, and he’s gathered that something rather interesting might happen in a bedroom (or even other places, although everyone seems to think this is particularly scandalous). At any rate, he’s deduced that children are sometimes a byproduct of the act, though not every time, and there’s a certain air about the discussion that makes him reluctant to ask for clarification on what exactly said act entails or why results may vary so much.

Heats and ruts can have something to do with it; that much, he’s gathered.

“Not — _exactly,_” he hedges, then straightens. “Though I know much more now, about a _lot _of things, than before.”

Anna is disappointingly unimpressed.

“That’s — well. Okay. What _do _you know?” she presses, and he colors a little, embarrassed by his ignorance.

“It usually happens in a bedroom,” he mutters, and swears Anna almost laughs, but then she’s very serious.

“I see. And you know that at some point — you’ll be expected to provide heirs for Dean?”

Cas is aware of this, on some distant, unconcerning level, although now that he’s connected the two, he’s a little alarmed.

“Yes, but — not yet, right? Even if I’ve been in Dean’s bedroom, I’m not going to have children. Right?”

Anna makes a really weird face.

“Oh. That — well, that depends, Cas,” she says, looking worried. “What did you do in Dean’s bedroom?”

“Sleep,” Cas explains, then thinks hard, in case any other activity might have put him in danger. “And Dean dried my hair with a towel after I came out of the bath. And one time my side had too many blankets, so I did sleep _right _next to him, but that can’t possibly mean—”

Anna waves a hand, apparently satisfied.

“No, you don’t have to worry, then.”

Cas is _already_ worried, though. He feels foolish for not thinking of this before.

“When do I have to worry?” A thought occurs to him. “King John said at least another year, but I won’t even be sixteen. If I have children then — what about my training? Shouldn’t — shouldn’t we wait until I’m a proper knight?”

“We definitely should,” she agrees dryly, crossing her arms. “But the stupid thing is, it’s out of our hands. I don’t know about Dean, but King John might push for them before you’re ready.”

Cas makes a face.

“Shouldn’t it be Dean’s choice?”

“No,” she grits out. “It should be _your _ choice. But Michael’s an ass and he’s gone and married you off to a Prince, which _stupidly _enough means you have far less say than other Lawrencians in a marriage.”

Cas fidgets, unhappy.

“I don’t want to have children next year,” he tells her, and he feels bad about it, but — “Even if Dean wants to.”

“Hm.” Anna considers him. “You seem to think very highly of Dean. He listens to your requests, doesn’t he?”

Cas hesitates.

“He _listens. _ Although he frequently refuses to follow them, even when I’m _sure _I must be right—”

Anna snorts.

“Ah, so it’s not just me you do that to. Wonderful.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he mumbles, and she grins.

“Alright. Well . . . why don’t you tell him that?”

“That I often think he’s wrong?”

“_No_, that’s called ‘picking a fight.’ I mean, that you don’t want to have children yet.”

That sounds like a reasonable plan, although . . .

“What if _he_ wants to?”

“Then he’ll tell you, and you can tell him why you don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“He might not care.”

“What makes you say that?” she asks, worry in her eyes.

Cas lets out a heavy sigh.

“Dean can be very stubborn,” he explains. “Last winter, when he came home and I was sick, he wouldn’t let me sleep in the barracks. And then he made me take a _bath, _ though I think I smelled _fine, _and when I refused, he threatened to make me sleep by myself in my room. I tried to make him see reason, but he insisted. In the end . . . I had no choice.”

Cas gives her a forlorn look, and she presses her mouth together.

“Such tyranny,” she utters, and Cas nods, sighing again.

“Yes. He’s very difficult.” But then he thinks of how Dean at least let Cas sleep in his room with him, and how he helped Cas dry his hair, and how he trained Cas in the evening, and Cas suddenly feels a little guilty. “But — he’s very good. Just — he likes to have his way.”

“Yes,” she agrees, expression strangely blank. “People like that are _very _difficult.”

“Aren’t they?” He shakes his head. “I suppose I can try, though. I don’t — it doesn’t seem fair, to make me stop training for something like that, when he already said I could be a knight.”

She perks up.

“I agree. You should tell him that, as well. I don’t think you’ll get in trouble.”

“Really?” She nods. “Alright. When — when he’s home, I’ll tell him. I don’t want to distract him with anything in letters. I’d rather have a dozen children starting tomorrow than have Dean get hurt because he was upset over something I said.”

“That’s very considerate of you,” she says. “But hopefully not necessary.”

“Hopefully.” He stands by it, but now that Cas thinks about it, a dozen seems . . .

Somewhat unmanageable. He’s never been around children, before. Perhaps that is another thing he should be training for.

“Anna,” he starts, and she nods at him to continue. “I — should I not sleep in Dean’s room again?”

“Oh.” She tugs a little at her collar. “Well. I — maybe?”

“I just — I don’t know what will put me at risk,” he explains, raising his brows meaningfully. “Though I suppose if Dean agrees to wait to have children, _he’ll_ know, right?”

The idea that Dean _won’t _know, that he might not know any more than Cas, is . . . alarming.

And then another horrible thought occurs to him.

“Anna — it can’t happen with anyone _else, _can it?”

Concerningly enough, Anna appears to be turning red.

“I hate Michael,” she mutters, though Cas has no idea what that has to do with anything. “Okay. Well, technically, almost any two presented people can have children together.”

Cas recoils. He never even _knew _the danger he was in.

“But you have to do something _very _specific for that to happen, Cas.”

“What?” he asks, frantic. “What do we have to do?”

She winces.

“I’m sorry. I do think it’s well past the time you had this talk — you ought to have gotten it before you married, but I can’t tell—” She cuts off abruptly, blinking. “Oh. _Oh. _It’s — we’re the only ones here.”

Cas nearly leaps out of his chair.

“Yes. Yes, so — no one has to know. You can tell me. Please,” he adds, imploring, and she reaches over to pat his hand.

“Don’t worry, Cas. I didn’t mean to frighten you. I’ll, um, explain, and then you’ll see, alright?”

He hunches inward, nodding.

“Alright,” he agrees, and even though he’s eager for her to tell him, he can’t help but be a little anxious.

Because while Cas might feel ready to face Hellenian soldiers or even _dragons _this very day, should the occasion call for it, this great unknown that’s suddenly been presented to him is . . .

Considerably more intimidating.

Anna smoothes out her pants, frowning.

“Okay. So. Children are made when two people . . . um. Have . . . intercourse.” She makes a face, then mumbles something that sounds like, “How is this my responsibility?”

Intercourse.

The word bounces ominously around Cas’s mind.

“From conversation?” he whispers, horrified, and she grimaces.

“Oh. Sorry. No, it’s — oh, God. Sexual intercourse,” she says quickly. “Please, just — save your questions for a moment, alright? Let me finish.”

“Okay.” He hopes this doesn’t mean a certain type of conversation will result in children.

“What that means is — well, usually, what happens is two people are attracted to one another. You remember when Lucifer teased Michael rather publicly about his crush on the Northern Princess and he was sent away to an island for a year?”

Vaguely. It was a few years ago.

“I think?”

“The Northern Kingdom is small, and they don’t have much to offer in trade. Michael could never have married her, but she was extremely beautiful and he was attracted to her. And by attracted, I mean — well. There’s a special kind of — desire, that a person can have for another person, regardless of how they feel about that person.”

“Desire? They want something from them?”

“Yes,” she says slowly. “And often, it’s because they also have — special feelings, for that person. They’re fond of them in a way that’s different than all the other people they like. It’s difficult to explain, but — sometimes the two are connected.”

“Not always, though?”

“Not always. Often not. And the special feelings don’t affect the — the children issue, but I think it’s worth mentioning that they often are the precursor to the — desire.”

“Alright.” Cas thinks he understands that. “So — sometimes you like someone differently than you like anyone else. And sometimes that means you want something from them?”

“Yes. But even if you don’t like them, even if they’re not special to you, you can want the thing from them.”

“Alright. What is the thing?”

Anna looks a little miserable.

“Well — sex, Cas. It’s a thing two people — two _adults,_” she adds, eyes steely, “Do with their bodies. Together.”

“That seems vague,” Cas says, dubious. “How will I know if I’m doing sex?”

Anna buries her face in her palm.

“Oh, God. Alright. It’s like this, Cas. You know what kissing is, right?”

“Of course. Though Dean and I don’t kiss.”

Anna nods.

“Alright. So sex is like a more involved form of kissing that people do, especially when they’re in love, though not always.”

“In love?” Cas echoes, tilting his head. “Like in stories?”

“Of course. You grew up in the castle, so you won't have seen it firsthand,” she mutters. “In love. The special feelings we talked about, when you like someone differently than you like other people. It’s hard to explain, as I said, and many people describe it differently. But for example — do you know any married couples?”

Cas thinks about it.

“Well, Dean and me.”

“Besides you and Dean.”

“Um. Bobby and Ellen?”

“Alright, and — oh, I know. Did anyone make Bobby and Ellen get married?”

“No?”

“When you marry someone even though nothing and no one is making you, it’s because you’re in love. You like each other very much, in the special way, and you want to be together and live together and things like that.”

“Alright?”

“And it often means you also — you know, think the other person is — attractive. And you want to do . . . extended kissing with them. Bobby and Ellen — do they kiss on the mouth and look into each other’s eyes and things like that?”

“Yes?”

“Alright, well, they’re probably in love.”

“Oh.”

Cas hesitates.

“Is that good?”

“It can make people very happy, yes.”

He considers this, a little melancholy.

“That means Dean and I aren’t in love,” he concludes, and Anna looks taken aback.

“No. You don’t — do you want to be?”

“If we’d be happier.”

“It doesn’t _always _ make people happy. A lot of people say being in love makes most people _unhappy,_” she hastens to add, and Cas cheers, a little.

“That’s fine, then. I don’t want either of us to be unhappy.”

”Yes, very good. Anyway, with kissing — sometimes people enjoy it even if they’re not married. And sometimes it leads to touching with the rest of their bodies.”

“So . . . this is the thing that happens in the bedroom,” he clarifies, still trying to piece everything he’s heard together.

“Generally, yes.”

“But you said that time I slept next to Dean wouldn’t be a problem."

“Well, you were dressed, weren’t you?”

“Yes. Does that mean if I wasn’t —”

“No. But your — the — damn it, how do I say this?” she mutters, then sighs and stands up, gesturing to a wide area below her waist. “When — _this _part of you is unclothed, and it’s touching someone else’s — _unclothed region, _then you have to start worrying.”

Cas squints, too confused to be relieved.

“But why would that happen?” Sometimes, when they’re fighting without weapons in training and it devolves to wrestling, those parts might briefly touch, but why on earth would anyone be fighting _naked_?

“That’s what I’m saying,” she says, sitting back down. “The — thing you want from someone. That’s what it is. You want to — well, touch them like that.”

“But . . . why?”

“When you’re attracted to someone, it can feel nice.”

Cas opens his mouth.

“_Please _don’t ask me why.”

He closes it, thinking it over, and then realizes he might just have another piece to this puzzle.

“Oh. Anna, is that why sometimes in the morning, when I first wake up, my—”

“Yes, probably,” she interrupts, not looking at him.

“You don’t know what I was going to say,” he protests, and she shakes her head vehemently.

“No, I think I do. And yes, Cas, that is part of why your — body does what it does in the morning. It gets confused and sometimes it reacts like that even though the rest of you isn’t trying to do anything.”

“Ah.” Anna looks upset, so Cas catches her eye, offering a smile. “It’s alright, Anna, it goes away after a while.”

“Good for you,” she mumbles. “I — I’d like to point out that these aren’t things you usually discuss in polite conversation. Although if you have questions, you should — Bobby! Ask Bobby.”

That’s good to know; Cas wanted to ask _someone _when it first started happening, but he felt embarrassed about it, for some reason, and he couldn’t quite bring himself to broach the topic, although sometimes he wondered if he might be ill.

“Okay. But — Anna, when you do the, uh, the bedroom thing, with someone — it doesn’t always result in children, does it?”

“No. That’s why if you don’t want children, but you do want to do that, you have to be careful.” She wrinkles her nose. “There are things — medicines you can take so you won’t have children. And there are times you can avoid doing it so you don’t have them.” She sighs. “Have you had your first heat yet?”

“Yes. Ellen said it was mild, though. That they’ll get worse as I get older.”

Anna nods.

“That’s true. Ellen runs the infirmary?”

“Yes. She’s a doctor, although she often trains with us.”

“Well, when your heats start to get worse, you should ask her more questions. All of this — you should know it, but you shouldn’t really worry about it yet, Cas.”

“Alright. But — what do heats and ruts have to do with children?”

“Oh, well — conceiving a child is much easier during that time. So — if you do the — the bedroom thing, I suppose we’re calling it — while you’re in heat, or your partner is in rut, and you’re not taking any of the medicine, there’s a very high chance you’ll end up with child.”

Cas mulls this over. It’s about what he expected, based on the things he’d overheard.

“But if I don’t do the bedroom thing at all, I definitely won’t?”

“Yes.”

“Alright.” He sits back, satisfied that he won’t be having children any time soon, and also pleased to have learned so _much._

His world feels much bigger than it did when he first arrived in Lawrence, but even if Cas could find someone to tell him or read a book on a subject, he often has no idea where to start.

“Thank you, Anna,” he tells her, and she nods, looking so exhausted Cas suspects she lied about not needing a nap. “That was very reassuring. And when Dean comes back, I’ll tell him I don’t want to have children yet.”

“Do that,” she says tiredly

“I think I’ll let you nap, now,” he offers, and she smiles a little.

“A nap sounds nice. I’m worried I’ll have trouble sleeping though,” she adds, sounding oddly sly. “I don’t suppose you know who to ask if I want a decanter of whiskey sent to my room?”

Ah. That would be why. Since coming to Lawrence, Cas has had a chance to observe just how much people like their liquor, and just how many situations supposedly call for it. In Eden, no one in the army was permitted to drink, and Michael only ever had wine served at dinner.

Anna usually had some reasonable-sounding excuse for wanting some brought to her, but Cas is wiser now, and in hindsight, he recognizes that they _were _just excuses.

He smirks, and she looks startled.

“No! Who told you?”

“No one _told _me. But no one lies to me anymore, either.”

She tsks.

“Hm. Well, I suppose I can’t fault them for that. They couldn’t have explained the other things to you while they were at it?” she adds, a little spitefully, and Cas can’t help but agree.

“No. They’re very indirect about it all.”

“Yes, well; that’s polite.”

“But how am I supposed to learn anything?”

“An excellent question. I don’t have an answer for it.”

Cas sighs.

“Well, then I’m lucky I have you. I don’t know how everyone else knows these things.”

“Perhaps they have older sisters, too,” she suggests, humor in her voice, and Cas considers this.

“Is that who’s supposed to tell you? Oh — but — Dean doesn’t have an older sister.” He frowns. “Should — should _I _tell him?”

Anna bursts out laughing, and it’s a long moment before she finds words.

“Cas — as entertaining as that would be for anyone fortunate enough to witness it, no. I can promise you that Dean is very well acquainted with that information, and if continental rumors are to be trusted, he’s made good use of it.”

Cas stares at her, bewildered.

“What?”

She falters a little, then smiles, shaking her head.

“Oh. It’s nothing, Cas. Don’t worry about it. But do have the decanter sent up.”

He returns her smile, although he’s still trying to parse her words.

“I will. Have a nice nap, Anna.”

He makes his way down to the kitchens, then, and resolves to figure it out later.

Later doesn’t really come all at once; Michael clearly still has opinions on how Cas spends his time in Lawrence, and he attempts to apply pressure for Dean’s early return a few more times, but there’s not much he can do. Cas understands now that Michael gains nothing toward his goal by threatening the treaty — that’s what he’s trying to _avoid, _apparently — and it’s fascinating to see him so constrained.

Still, the visit passes without a complete breakdown in relations, and Anna promises to try and negotiate to make a personal visit in the fall.

Cas is surprised by how difficult it is to see her go; he considers himself to be completely settled in, now (if he’s being honest, he’d go so far as to say he likes it _better _here), but saying goodbye to Anna is scarcely much easier than it was last summer.

“Write me often,” she instructs him.

“I always write you.”

“Precisely. You’ve raised expectations.”

“I will write you as long as I receive letters in return,” he concedes. She smiles, pressing her hand to his cheek, and then is gone.

Summer passes in a blur of warm, sunny days, Cas sweating right through his tunics and pants as he spends long hours training. He treasures the cooler evenings, bringing whatever book he’s reading to sit beneath the trees outside the gate while the sun begins its lazy descent.

Sam finds out after the first few weeks, and thereafter comes to join him. Though Cas is a little wary at first, because even Dean can’t seem to keep quiet when Cas is trying to read, Sam proves to be an excellent reading companion. He’s quiet, absorbed in his own books, but he occasionally shares interesting things from them and, best of all, doesn’t mind Cas asking questions.

“Sam,” Cas says one day, puzzling over what he’s quite sure is innuendo, and perhaps wanting some acknowledgment for being able to recognize it now. Sam holds a finger up, then leans back from his book a moment later.

“Sure, Cas, what’s up?”

“This passage. The pirate captain has invited the castaway they picked up for tea in her quarters, and the crew has a lot of colorful commentary.” Cas leans over, holding the book out for Sam to inspect. He scans the page where Cas is pointing. “And the Captain is flustered and yells at them to behave like ladies and gentleman. Are they talking about bedroom things?”

Sam starts.

“Um. What? Like — what do you mean, bedroom things?”

“The things people do in bedrooms sometimes.”

Sam’s eyebrows are halfway up his forehead, and Cas has never noticed the triangle this expression forms before now, but it’s rather remarkable.

“Like – do you mean sex?”

“Yes, that’s another word for it,” Cas says impatiently. Does Sam know more than him or not?

Sam bites his lip.

“Right. Well, yeah, they mean . . . bedroom things.”

Cas nods, satisfied, and a little pleased with himself for catching on.

“Ah. I thought so.” He pauses. “What did they mean when they suggested she meant to ‘rattle the ol’ teapot and make it steam’? I don’t think they mean tea.”

Sam’s face is doing a lot of bizarre things right now.

“They don’t.”

“Well, what _do_ they mean? And how could it possibly relate to the bedroom things?”

“Well, I mean. I don’t think that’s like, a specific thing. I think it refers to more, um, general bedroom things.”

“Oh.”

“Listen, Cas, I’m not really a great person to ask about this. Most of what I know is secondhand — actually, most of what I know is from Dean, and I’m pretty sure he makes some things up.”

Cas perks up at that.

“Does Dean know a lot?”

“Maybe? He certainly sleeps with enough people,” Sam adds wryly. Cas tilts his head, not sure what that has to do with anything, and then he remembers.

He, too, was naive before his talk with Anna.

“Sam,” he says seriously. “Sleeping and bedroom things are different, actually.”

Sam blinks.

“They — can be? But sometimes ‘sleeping with someone’ means s— uh, bedroom things.”

It’s Cas’s turn to be surprised.

“Oh.” He frowns. “But isn’t that confusing?”

“Um, not really? Usually you can tell by the context.”

“Oh.” And then Cas realizes what Sam has said, and he wonders if that’s what Anna was saying, too. “Dean does that with a lot of people?”

Sam suddenly looks _very _uncomfortable, almost comically so.

Cas will have to describe it in his next letter to Dean.

“Uh, um, well, I—” he stammers, and then looks down, the very picture of awkwardness. “You know what? You should — definitely ask Dean about this stuff. I’m really — I’m not a good person to ask _at all.”_

“That’s not true, Sam,” Cas reassures him. “You were very helpful. Thank you.”

“Sure,” Sam mumbles, still not looking at him, and Cas returns to his book, thoughtful.

It sounds like Dean _does _do bedroom things with people. Cas thinks — well. It’s strange to think about, given that he still doesn’t fully understand it all, but it shouldn’t be a problem, as long as he’s using the medicine that protects people from having children.

On the other hand, Cas thinks, even if Dean did have children with someone else, would that matter? Because actually, then _Cas _wouldn’t have to have them —

Oh, but the whole point of the treaty, according to Anna, is to secure Eden’s interests in Lawrence. If Cas isn’t the one giving Dean heirs, he’ll be ruining things.

He sighs. For a moment, the situation seemed ideal, but it’s rather messy, isn’t it?

And then Cas thinks about something else Anna said, and his mood deflates even further.

“Sam,” he interrupts again, and Sam looks up, much more relaxed than he was a few minutes ago.

“Yeah, Cas?”

“Is Dean in love with anyone?”

Sam’s mouth falls open a little.

“Uhhh. N-no?” He clears his throat. “Why?”

“Well, if he does those things with people, I thought he might have special feelings for someone.” Cas looks down. “I’d feel bad, if there was someone he would have married if he didn’t have to marry me.”

“Oh. Well — I wouldn’t worry about that, Cas. Dean always knew he wasn’t going to choose who he married, and for what it’s worth, I think he’s pretty happy with you.”

Cas brightens.

“I hope so. We don’t do bedroom things and we’re not in love, but I _will _be the best soldier in his army some day. I think that’s something.”

Sam blinks, then smiles at him.

“Yeah, Cas. It definitely is.”

Cas returns to his book, quietly grateful for Sam’s encouragement.

It looks like he has nothing to worry about, after all.

The summer heat fades, and by the time Cas’s birthday arrives, he and Sam pack blankets when they go out to read. Dean sends him a preserved sort of candy, the specialty of a border town, and Meg scoffs that it’s vastly inferior to a sword.

“The honeymoon’s over, Clarence,” she informs him, and Cas has no idea what she’s implying, but he hates her tone, and he refuses to share his ‘inferior candy,’ although these days, he generally finds Meg to be very amusing company, indeed.

Anyway, the joke is on her, because Dean _also _sent a (supposedly) protectively-charmed pendant, some beautiful rock so dark in color it might be black, if not for the searing blue that flashes across it when you tilt it in the light.

_They call it a feather stone, _ Dean writes. _We’re by the mountains, now, and the people here have legends of angels. They say their wings are made of sky, and dreams of flight are _ _blessings from heaven._

Cas asks Rowena the Alchemist for a way to wear it without it getting in his way, and though she complains — “What exactly is it you think I _do _all day, wee little prince?” — she procures for him a length of braided leather, short enough not to catch on anything, but long enough not to choke him, and Cas takes to wearing the pendant around his neck.

When he tells Donna about it, she pretends to faint. Cas is mildly concerned until she pops back up, chuckling.

“Sorry, sweetie, it was just so darned adorable it killed me!”

Cas is getting a little old to be called adorable, he thinks, but since it’s Donna, he allows it.

_You know I dream of flying often. Are you suggesting this is why I am a well-fed knight-in-training with a husband who sends me feather stones? _ he sends back. _If you are _ — _ well, it seems a reasonable theory, _ _though _ _Sam tells me not to _ _feed your ego._

_ Rowena has made a necklace of it for me (do not worry _ — _ we’ve made sure it w__on’t_ _ get in the way when I _ _fight__) and I intend to wear it always. I suppose we’ll see if it works._

Dean, of course, writes back scolding him. _What if someone chokes you with it_? he points out. Cas notes his concerns and continues wearing it anyway.

Ultimately, though — Cas decides, regardless of anyone else’s doubts, that yes, it works.

Sam doesn’t _always_ join him in his reading time, and with the colder evenings come earlier sunsets. It is one such a solitary dusk, Cas’s eyes straining to see the words enough that he’s about to resolve to go in for dinner, when the book is knocked from his hand.

“Wh—” A hand covers his mouth, and Cas is suddenly hit with its owners scent, crisp and cold and dusty, like an abandoned room left to the elements in the dead of winter. It’s unmistakably alpha and tinged with aggression, and Cas panics when he’s hauled upward, back to his unwelcome visitor as they start dragging him away from the tree.

But in his panic, his body bows to instinct, and that instinct is heavily shaped by countless days spent preparing for eventual combat.

His attacker grunts when Cas shoves his elbow back into him, grip slackening enough for Cas to tear away, whirling, though he’s unarmed. He feels like a fool. Why wouldn’t he carry some means of defense with him? What is the point of his training if he’s not going to _use _it?”

The man regroups quickly, lunging forward, and Cas is so used to sparring sessions, to fights where the rules are dictated from the outset, that he somehow assumes if he is unarmed, his opponent will remain so as well.

Cas is fast, and he dodges, but his shoulder stings badly as the knife slashes through it.

He shoves back the pain, retreating a few steps, and the man turns toward him, advancing slowly.

“Come with me and you won’t be hurt,” he rasps.

Cas’s shoulder may be throbbing — is probably bleeding — but he’s not going anywhere with someone who attacked him, nor does he intend to be hurt again, either way.

“No,” he growls, inching back. He needs to find a way to disarm the man and retrieve the weapon for himself. The man is intent, and it will be difficult, however . . .

Cas has been trained very well.

“What do you want from me?” he asks.

“What Lawrence wanted from you. A deal with Eden.”

Cas is startled. So this is not a random crime.

But Cas has already been given to Dean; what could anyone else hope to do with him?

Well, he can worry about it later.

Cas pretends to stumble, feigning a great deal more shock than he feels, and the man takes that as his opening to launch himself at Cas. His intent is clearly not to kill, but subdue, and the difference gives Cas the chance he needs to shove the man’s arm outward, ducking under it and dragging it back with all his might, twisting it at the end.

It’s enough. The knife drops, and Cas dives for it, snatching it off the ground and turning back around just as the man attempts to tackle him.

This time, it hardly takes any effort on Cas’s part. The knife sinks right into the man’s side, and Cas rolls away and starts running for the gate before the man even hits the ground.

Ellen is a little upset, when she comes to see him.

Actually, _everyone _is upset.

Even King John can be heard yelling from the council room, though Cas can’t make out what he’s saying, and soon enough Bobby and Rufus come to herd him back to his bedroom in the castle, half a dozen guards in tow.

“I don’t want to sleep in my room,” Cas protests. “The barracks will be safer. They’re full of other people. No one would dare.”

Bobby sighs.

“I reckon anywhere inside the wall is pretty damn safe, else they wouldn’t have waited for you to leave the gate. Which you and Sam oughta have told someone you were doin’, by the way.”

“Sam and I are fine.”

“Don’t know if Sam is fine after the scolding John gave him,” Rufus mutters, and Bobby elbows him, eyes warning.

“Anyhow. The King wants you in the castle ‘til we know for sure nobody else is comin’ after you.”

Cas scowls, but if this is the _King’s _orders, there’s nothing any of them can do about it. He doesn’t kid himself that John will be half so amused by his pushback as Dean is.

He perks up at that thought.

“Take me to Dean’s room, then.”

Bobby and Rufus exchange a look, one that takes about twenty seconds to communicate its intent.

Cas scowls.

“If you don’t take me to Dean’s room, I’m not going.”

Rufus has the nerve to laugh.

“Oh, that’s cute, kid thinks he’s got a choice—”

Bobby holds up a hand.

“Alright. We’ll take ya to Dean’s room. Let’s get on with it, then.”

Cas smirks at Rufus as he passes them, but Rufus just rolls his eyes and follows after, shaking his head and muttering about tenderhearted fools.

Ellen comes to see him once he’s settled in the bed, doctor’s bag in hand.

“Just the shoulder?” she asks Bobby, and when he nods, she whacks his arm.

“Coulda walked to the damn infirmary then.”

“John wanted him in a locked room while we question the fella they picked up in the forest.”

She sighs.

“Guy was a mess, too. You couldn’t have just knocked him out?” she asks Cas, although her tone gentles a great deal.

Cas frowns.

“I was unarmed. I did what I could.”

“Mm. Alright, let’s see the damage.”

Ellen cleans and bandages the wound, ranting a little all the while.

“Gonna leave a scar. Honestly, what were you boys thinkin’, sittin’ outside the gate every night? We’re in an almost-war, for God’s sakes. Hell, what were the guards thinkin’, letting you through? Bunch o’ damned fools, all of ya.”

“It’s a pleasant spot to read,” Cas sniffs, and she rolls her eyes.

“Find a pleasant spot inside the walls, then,” she retorts, unimpressed, and Cas huffs.

“What did he want, anyway? How can they use me to make a deal with Eden? I’m a citizen of Lawrence now. They can’t make the same deal you did, either, because I’m already married.”

Ellen looks at Bobby.

“No,” she says firmly. “No, I ain’t dealin’ with this.”

“Well, now — you know I ain’t particularly reassuring—” Bobby starts, and Ellen closes her bag with a decisive snap, ignoring him.

“Honey, one of those asshats over there will help you sort it out, I promise. But you’re safe here, and we’ll look after you, and your shoulder’s gonna heal right up. Make sure you rest, alright?”

Cas nods slowly.

“Alright.”

Ellen busses his forehead and with a rather menacing look at Bobby, leaves the room.

Bobby sighs.

Rufus coughs and follows her out before Bobby can stop him.

“Aw, hell,” Bobby mutters, and Cas gives him an expectant look. “Alright, kid. Let’s get this over with.”

“Please do,” Cas says politely, and Bobby shuffles forward, dropping into a chair.

“Okay. Uh. Thing is, you and Dean haven’t made any heirs, alright?”

Cas hesitates. He’s pretty sure he can be honest with Bobby, and Anna encouraged him to ask Bobby questions, too, so . . .

“I don’t really want to,” he tells him plainly. “Of course, if we have to, we will, but—”

Bobby waves a hand.

“Ain’t nobody makin’ ya, kid. Not now, anyway.” He clears his throat. “Anyway, Dean’s been gone a long time now, so it’s also clear that you’re not expectin’ any, at the moment.”

“Dean and I don’t do bedroom things. Even if he were here, that can’t happen. Anna said so.”

Bobby makes a face.

“Good to know. But see, nobody else knows that. Now, Hellenia’s tip-toein’ around the war issue, ‘cause they’re not so sure they can beat us, alright? S’why Dean and the others have to be gone so long; nobody’s makin’ any big moves, so things are at a kinda permanent stand still. But if Hellenia formed an alliance with Eden — well, they’d stand a damn good chance at puttin’ us in ruins.”

“I — but — Michael’s already made a treaty with you. He can’t do that, can he?”

“Right, but — that treaty’s ridin’ on you and Dean. On the future heir of Lawrence bein’ half-Edenish.”

“Yes, I know, Anna explained that to me —”

“But that heir don’t exist yet, and if Hellenia can spirit you away, what do we have?”

“It wouldn’t be your fault—”

“Doesn’t matter. We’ve got zip. But Hellenia would have you, and they could try and force Michael’s hand, tempt him with spoils of war if he helps things along.”

“But — but I’m Dean’s. Michael can’t make deals with me anymore.”

“You’re still royal blood of Eden, Cas. If the deal with Lawrence falls through and Hellenia has you, anyway, then Michael might feel like it’s in his best interest to just denounce your first marriage and wed you to some royal Hellenian, and then help invade Lawrence.”

“That’s terrible,” Cas says, knuckles white where he clenches the sheet. “I won’t do it.”

“We don’t always get the choices we deserve,” Bobby tells him gently. “But I agree. Ain’t gonna happen. We’ll look after you here, alright? But you gotta stay in Dean’s room ‘til we sort things out.”

Cas sighs.

“Alright. Will someone bring me books, at least?”

“’Course. Donna’ll come see you herself,” he promises, and Cas resigns himself to being satisfied with that.

Still, once Bobby’s left and Cas has blown out the candles, snuggling up dead center in Dean’s comfortable four-poster, breathing in the comforting traces of scent that linger, Cas can’t help but notice the stinging ache in his shoulder.

And then he can’t help but think that it could have been much, much worse. That Hellenia could be holding him hostage, that Michael might decide their offer is more advantageous (though Cas suspects Michael’s pride would not allow for him to let himself be pushed into such a thing).

That Dean would come home from the border and Cas wouldn’t be here, or worse — that Eden and Hellenia would overwhelm his forces, and Dean might not come home at all.

That Cas might not even have lived to know, either way.

He touches the little feather-stone at his neck, warm from where it sits on his own skin, and he feels certain of it.

Dean’s gift was not a useless trinket, at all, and Cas was right to keep it close.

What effectively amounts to his captivity begins pleasantly enough, but Cas quickly grows bored, restless, and honestly?

Lonely.

Meg and Garth visit him after training two days later, although Garth arrives fifteen minutes after Meg, out of breath and apologetic that he just couldn’t seem to find the bracelet she apparently dropped somewhere on the other side of the castle.

Cas is sure she made it up, and she rolls her eyes when he gives her a disapproving look.

“Oh, let me have my fun, Clarence. Since you’re cooped up in here; I should be having enough fun for the both of us.”

“Oh, oh, but we brought you a present, Castiel,” Garth enthuses, and out of a bag pulls a couple of practice swords. “Bobby thought you might wanna go a few rounds, if we all promise to be careful.”

It is a wonderful diversion from sitting in bed, reading by himself, but then they go down to dinner and Cas is left to wait for his own to be brought up to him.

On the fourth day, Cas asks Bobby why Sam hasn’t come to see him, and Bobby looks as angry as Cas has ever seen him.

“I’m workin’ on that,” he says, and Cas frowns.

“Does he not want to see me, for some reason?”

“Oh, Sam came tearin’ out of dinner when he heard you got hurt, practically shook the damp tapestries of the walls, but John’s got his head up his ass about your little reading dates, so he’s not allowed in here.”

Cas appreciates Bobby’s honesty, but now he’s even more confused.

“I don’t understand.”

Bobby sighs.

“It’s dumb. Don’t worry about it.”

“How can I not worry about it? Besides, I want to see Sam.” Cas is used to sitting with Sam and reading, now, and it seems grossly unfair that the king has put a pointless embargo on the activity.

“I told you, I’m workin’ on it.”

“Why does the king care?”

Rubbing his forehead, Bobby grunts.

“Jackass is all worried you and Sam are gettin’ too close, on account of bein’ nearer in age and all. He’s just got his panties in a twist over Hellenia tryin’ to ally with Eden, though, so it’ll blow over.”

“Sam’s my brother-in-law,” Cas points out, at a loss. “Shouldn’t we be close?”

There’s another grunt.

“Yeah, you should. John just doesn’t understand a damn thing. But I’ll figure it out, and you’ll be seein’ Sam soon enough, alright?”

Cas supposes this will have to do for now, and settles back in to wait.

_Dear Dean,_

_ I’ve taken slightly ill (it’s nothing serious at all) and am now forced to spend my days inside the castle._

_ I’ve adopted your room as my sick room. I apologize. But you _ _should_ _ understand that mine is stuffy from disuse, and though I only slept there during the summer when I first got here, I __suspect_ _ it will be very drafty in the winter._

_ But I promise to leave everything as you left it._

_ I told you that Sam often reads with me in the evening, and I had hoped to continue that habit during my convalescence, but Bobby says your father is being a jackass and Sam is forbidden from seeing me. It makes absolutely no sense and I miss him very much. And I’m extremely bored._

_ I want to thank you again for the feather stone. I believe I would have been _ <strike> _hurt_ </strike> _ much sicker if I hadn’t had it. I don’t care if it is a liability in battle, by the way. It’s worth wearing._

_ I miss you very much, as well, Dean. I hope Hellenia realizes the futility of their efforts soon._

_ Yours,_

_ Cas_

He receives a letter from Anna two weeks after the attack; she’s heard what happened, and threatens to come nurse him back to health and fend off any other fool brave enough to try again.

_Michael was furious when the messenger arrived, by the way. I’m sure King John will have heard all about it by now, but he had a fit the likes of which you’ve never seen at the idea that the ‘filthy Hellenian upstart sitting on the throne’ would dare try and force his hand._

_ I’m sure he’s also very glad you’re okay, Cas. I confess to pointing out how nice it is that Dean’s allowed you to keep training, when the messenger described how you thwarted the assault and kidnapping; Michael was quite silent for a moment, and then ranted about how Dean ought never to have jeopardized the treaty by leaving you by yourself to begin with._

_ Anyway, a handful of Edenish forces will be joining Lawrence at the border in the coming weeks. There is nothing like Michael’s pride to drive him to action._

_ But if you need __me_ _to come fortify the castle, say the word. I __may be__ forbidden from the battlefield, but do not think I am helpless._

Cas doesn’t think that for a moment. He’s nearly crawling up the walls at this point, restless with boredom and shoulder barely even twinging anymore, and he is sorely tempted to encourage her.

But the first of the winter storms touched the castle grounds a few days before the post arrived, and Cas is not so much in need he would have his sister risk a small traveling party until the weather is sure to be kinder.

After the third week, Sam bursts into Cas’s room, guards nowhere to be seen outside and some terrible commotion audible in the distance. He beams at Cas, smug and gleeful, and holds a finger to his lips before cramming himself into the wardrobe, an impressive feat considering his recent growth spurt.

Five minutes later, Cas’s guards return, knocking at the door.

“Come in,” Cas beckons calmly, and they survey the room with slightly suspicious eyes.

“Is there anything amiss, your highness?”

Cas tilts his head.

“I heard a lot of noise from elsewhere in the castle. Is everything alright?”

The guards relax.

“Fine. We suspect it’s a prank of some sort — nothing to worry about. We’ll leave you to it, then.”

The door shuts, and a few moments later the wardrobe cracks open.

“You can come out, Sam,” Cas says, eagerly making a space on the bed, and Sam unfolds himself and ambles over, a bag slung over his shoulder.

“I brought snacks, and more books, _and _— a letter from Dean.”

Sam wastes no time in crawling under the blankets, and Cas offers him another pillow to put behind him, frankly ecstatic at the promise of company, even without the other incentives.

Although he would really like to get his hands on that letter.

“How are you going to sneak out?” he asks, and Sam shrugs.

“They change the guards at ten. Pamela won’t care.”

Pamela can be very intimidating, and is always smiling like she _knows _things, but she calls Cas ‘handsome’ and cheers for him on the occasions when they go to spar with the next rank up. Cas decides he likes her very much, now.

“If you’re sure. I don’t want you to get in trouble.”

Sam scoffs.

“Dad’s being stupid, and everyone agrees. Anyway, last week Michael sent word that Hellenia’s in the doghouse and he’s sending backup to the border, whether we need it or not; he should relent soon. I think he would have already, but I, um, kind of made a fuss. And said some stuff. So I think he’s punishing me, too, now.”

Cas deflates.

“I’m sorry.”

“Nah, don’t worry about it. This happens sometimes when Dean goes away. Dad focuses a little more on me and we kinda get into it. It’s not a big deal.”

“Still.”

“The _important_ thing is I brought you honeycakes,” Sam pronounces, fishing out a smaller cloth bag, and Cas nearly weeps with joy.

No one ever thinks to bring him snacks or _dessert, _and Cas can’t exactly go get them himself.

Sam watches proudly as he demolishes the first cake, and Cas lets out a sigh of deep contentment.

“Maybe you should be king, instead,” he says, and Sam cackles.

“Yeah, no thank you, but tell Dean that next time you write him.” He reaches for the bag again. “Speaking of which! Here’s your letter.”

Sated for the moment, Cas carefully breaks the seal and unfolds the sheets of paper within. It looks like Sam has his own letter, too, and Cas thinks it’s very nice that he waited to read it with Cas.

He wonders if he’ll be able to get Sam to let Cas read _his_, too, but first things first:

_Dear Cas,_

_ I hope you’re feeling better by the time you get this. Your assurance that it’__s_ _ nothing serious isn’t suspicious at all, especially not when combined with Sam’s extremely angry rant about how Dad is being a jerk _ _just because you got a little ill (but only a little bit, definitely nothing to worry about) and apparently Dad thinks it’s somehow related to how much time you spent outside in the cold reading with him._

_ I’ll get the story out of one of you, eventually, so you know._

_ Anyway _ — _ you better be well by the time I get back. Things don’t look promising as far as letting up for the winter; there’s some abandoned settlements in the foothills, and it looks like Hellenia’s fixed them up and intends to stick things out, even though there’s only been scattered battles here and there. I’m not sure if they’re still testing us or trying to wear us down, but it’s a pain in the ass. Sometimes I get so bored I almost wish they’d launch an attack._

_ I’m glad if the feather stone is working out for you. I don’t know if I believe in angels or anything like that, but I got a real good feeling when I found that stone in one of the market stalls. Be nice if something was looking out for you._

_ Especially if you’re gonna be getting _ _ mildly ill all the time._

_ Jo says _ _you got into a snit with Meg over the candy thing, by the way. She also tells me Meg likes to wind you up because she thinks you’re cute._

_ You are pretty damn cute, Cas, enough that I’m just gonna go ahead and warn you right now: Meg’ll eat you alive. Don’t take the bait._

_ Maybe we’ll all see you before the New Year. You and Sam behave yourselves, alright?_

_ And don’t go getting ‘sick’ again._

_ Dean_

Cas reads the letter once, and then he reads it again, and by his third perusal, his cheeks feel impossibly hot and his eyes keep sticking on one particular sentence.

_You are pretty damn cute, Cas._

“What’d he say?” Sam asks, and Cas quickly presses the letter to his chest.

“Nothing." Sam’s curious look only deepens. He hesitates.

“Are you . . . sure?”

“Yes,” Cas insists, relieved that this is Sam and not Meg — or even _Dean. _He can practically see Dean sitting next to him, tilting his head, gaze calculating as he goes ‘Uh-huh,’ before promptly trying to pry the letter out of Cas’s hands.

But Sam is considerate, and polite, and if Cas wants to keep something private, he’s confident Sam will listen.

Although now the rest of the evening will be awkward, because Sam’s silent curiosity can be _incredibly loud _sometimes.

(But maybe he’ll still let Cas read _his _letter.)

“Okay. If — if you say so.” Sam looks a little disappointed.

“What about yours?” Cas asks, although he knows he’s not being fair.

He’s not even sure _why _he doesn’t want Sam to see what Dean wrote. But Cas feels embarrassed, in a good way, like when he’s praised at practice.

Except there’s something different about it. It makes him feel a little hot, instead of just warm, and he almost feels like he’s received a boost of adrenaline, though he’s not in combat.

Which is weird. Anna calls him cute all the time, and he doesn’t think too much of it.

Sam just snorts, oblivious.

“Yeah, he totally knows we lied about you being sick. Bobby said he probably would, but Dean will go all bitchy alpha if he hears someone attacked you, and he can’t afford to lose focus right now.”

Bobby’s words to Cas were ‘Dean will worry,’ which is the only reason Cas was comfortable lying to Dean. He’s not sure what Sam means by ‘bitchy alpha,’ though he supposes it doesn’t matter.

Sam must feel extremely sorry for Cas, being cooped up in Dean’s room, because he does let Cas read his letter (Cas decides he likes it, even if the letter isn’t addressed to him; he always enjoyed listening to Dean and Sam’s conversations, anyway), and only asks once more what Dean wrote that made Cas so embarrassed.

“He told an inappropriate joke,” Cas lies, and Sam gets this annoyed, pinched look Cas is briefly concerned is directed at him.

“Ugh. Sorry, I think Dean forgets you grew up in Eden sometimes. Don’t worry about it. Are you sure you don’t need me to explain it to you?”

“No, thank you. I don’t want to know,” he says, and Sam laughs.

After all, even if Cas told Sam the truth, he knows what Dean meant.

Cas _is_ cute. Anna thinks so, Donna thinks so, Pamela says ‘handsome’ with such humor Cas is pretty sure that’s what _she _means, as well, and even Bobby has gruffly warned him ‘don’t be cute with me, boy.’

It’s affectionate — which pleases Cas — and nothing more. He’s not sure what else it _would _be.

But still, he doesn’t tell Sam.

They curl up and start their books, after that, and they become so absorbed they both just fall asleep.

King John doesn’t find out, but Bobby definitely yells at them the next morning. Once he’s finished, storming off to breakfast huffy and red-faced, Sam looks over at Cas.

And then they both start laughing.

Two days after Sam’s clandestine visit, Cas is allowed back to the barracks, and Bobby reluctantly permits them to move their evening reading sessions to inside the castle walls, though he warns Sam not to mention it to his dad. Aside from the slightly disappointing change in locale, things mostly go back to normal.

They don’t see Dean before the New Year, or even before Dean’s birthday; winter leisurely thaws to spring, and a month before Sam turns eighteen, they get word that Hellenia is moving much more aggressively. They attempt to take a smaller coastal city, and though Lawrence pushes back, Dean is confident this will be the first of many.

It’s disappointing, to say the least. Dean’s now been away over a year, and Cas is disheartened to realize he can’t _exactly _recall the sound of Dean’s voice, or which shade of green his eyes are in the sun or the candlelight or the shade of the buildings around the courtyard.

Still, he trains hard and wears his feather stone and hopes that somewhere, Dean is being looked out for, too.

Dean’s theory proves correct; Hellenia boldly makes attempts on a number of border cities, never quite succeeding, but creating enough of a nuisance that Dean and the others are growing exhausted.

_There aren’t words for how sick and tired of this I am, and I think that’s what they want. I_ _ think they’__re trying_ _ to wear us out. I’ve written Dad about it, and hopefully _ _h__e’ll agree; we need to settle this once and for all so everyone can just go home, finally._

Cas hears through the castle grapevine that King John must have agreed; some of the reserves ride out for the border at the end of August, and Meg says they’re planning on crossing over and pushing Hellenia’s forces back for good.

Cas wants Dean to come home, desperately, but he also knows things have been relatively low-stakes to this point. He can’t help but worry over the outcome.

That Lawrence will triumph, Cas has no doubt. That Dean and everyone else he knows will survive?

That’s less of a sure thing.

Hellenia’s grown too accustomed to making the first move, it turns out. Lawrence’s army manages to surprise them, for the most part, and without strategic selection of the battlegrounds and careful preparation for the days preceding conflict, Hellenia is a little scattered. The army crosses over with ease, seizes three key border towns, and everyone who isn’t tasked with maintaining their hold there follows Dean further in.

Crowley surrenders, caught fleeing from his temporary throne fifty miles in from the border, from which he’s been giving orders, and Dean and the others take him back to the tiny castle to draw up the peace negotiations.

_Know what _ _he_ _ said when he surrendered? ‘Worth a shot.’ No, seriously. He shrugged and sighed and drawled, ‘Can you blame me? It was worth a shot.’_

_ What a dick. We should have done this to begin with. I swear, Cas, never again._

_ Anyway. I hope to make it back by your birthday, but the fighting was the easy part; now comes all the paperwork. With any luck, Hellenia will stop giving us trouble, and stupid-ass power grabs aside, Crowley seems a little more reasonable than his predecessor. We might even make an ally of them, someday._

_ Though _ — _ not that I’m not glad to have you, buddy, but if Dad starts talking about marrying Sam off to anybody here, we’re faking his death._

Cas certainly hopes King John won’t marry Sam off. As well as such arrangements have worked out for himself, Cas finds, as he gets older, that he may be a somewhat selfish person. He has grown very fond of Sam, now — perhaps even loves him like another sibling of the Anna-esque variety — and it would be his preference to keep him nearby, so he can continue to take advantage of his company.

And since Hellenia is no doubt a horrible, wretched place, Cas feels he can, with the clearest of consciences, encourage Dean to fight against this outcome at nearly any cost.

Fortunately, John at no point even suggests such a thing; still, Dean writes of a few extremely convoluted schemes they might employ to avoid it.

Cas turns sixteen, and though he finds himself entertaining bizarre fantasies of Dean bursting into the great hall to wish him happy birthday, he knows by then not to expect him until the end of September.

But the end of September is not quite two weeks away, and Cas can hardly contain his excitement. Letters are a poor substitute for the real thing, and Dean’s return has never felt so real or so close.

On September 28 th , they receive word that the party is resting three towns over, and the castle launches into a frenzy of preparation to welcome their heroes back. Bobby scolds Cas every five minutes, it feels like, but it’s difficult to keep his mind on his training when Dean is due to arrive so very soon.

When he meets Sam for dinner that evening, the older boy has a bruise on his cheek.

“I’m too excited to pay attention,” he explains sheepishly, and Cas is relieved to know he’s not the only one. Sam brings his letters from Dean to their reading time without prompting, now; Cas feels oddly shy about sharing his own, but Sam is so generous he doesn’t even ask about it, though the letter-sharing has made it much more apparent to Cas how desperately Sam misses his brother.

Cas knows he _should _share, as well, but . . . he can’t quite bring himself to.

They don’t read that evening; instead, they try to think of all the things that have changed since Dean left, so they don’t leave out any important stories once he’s finally there to hear them.

The very next day, around one o’ clock, a loud, gleeful trumpeting is heard from the tower guard, and Cas dodges Meg’s punch where they spar on the field, running right past her and toward the courtyard.

“Oh, come on, Clarence!” she yells after him, but he can hear the rest of the fledglings follow. The castle grounds have felt terribly empty for more than a year now, and _everyone_ is gladly anticipating the change.

Sam is already waiting when Cas gets to the courtyard, and he beams, reaching out to squeeze Cas’s hand when Cas falls into place beside him.

“They’re coming,” he whispers, and Cas beams back.

“I know.”

Despite all the excitement, they’re left waiting a good twenty-five minutes. Cas is nearly shivering by the time they hear hooves and conversation, growing steadily louder until at last, the gate opens.

His heart pounds, and he reaches for Sam’s hand again, clutching it tight. He can’t believe the day has finally come; that any moment now, he’ll see Dean again.

It’s almost too much to bear, he thinks, but he must. The alternative is _not _seeing Dean again, and Cas refuses.

And then the army begins pouring into the courtyard, fanning out to the sides as Cas scans every face with growing impatience, because why on earth is Dean not riding at the front — and then his heart stutters in his chest, because _oh, _there he is at last.

Cas just stares, startled. Dean is — he can’t have changed that much, Cas thinks. It’s been a mere eighteen months, and although Cas has had trouble remembering his features in any kind of perfect detail lately, it hasn’t gotten so bad that he’s unable to recognize Dean _hasn’t _changed much.

Yet, watching Dean ride through the gate, watching his face light up as his eyes land on Sam and Cas — it feels like a revelation, leaving him faintly giddy and awestruck.

Dean practically leaps off his horse, shoving the reigns in the direction of a stable-hand with a nonetheless sincere ‘thank you!’ before he jogs over to Sam and Cas, coming to a stop in front of them.

“Well, now, what do we have here?” he drawls, grinning.

Cas doesn’t remember his voice _not _ being so deep and rich and _warm, _and yet — _s__o__mething _seems different, now, even if it’s not Dean, and Cas can’t even begin to account for his reaction to it.

But then Dean catches his eye, and he feels like a fool, because he can worry about it later, when Dean isn’t standing _right in front of him._

Cas tries to smile, only to find he’s already grinning, and Sam releases his hand to step forward.

Dean’s grin slides right off his face, expression turning disturbed

“The fuck? What are you — dude, what the hell have people been feeding you?”

“Yeah, shut up. My diet is perfectly normal, unlike somebody’s I could name.”

“Hey, lay off of Cas, it ain’t his fault he likes honeycakes so much.”

“Wow, it’s like the older _I _ get, the less mature _you _get.”

They glare at each other for a moment, and then Dean breaks out into another grin.

“God damn, I missed you,” he says, and gives Sam a very aggressive-looking bear hug.

Cas is surprised to see they’re nearly of a height. Dean is being nice about it, right now, but he has no doubt there will be complaints later on.

He tries not to feel left out — or at least, he tries to resist the temptation to pout — while he waits for them to finish their greeting, but the moment they pull back, he can’t help himself.

“I grew as well, Dean,” he points out, and Dean turns.

He dutifully looks Cas over, a slow perusal that for some reason makes Cas want to shiver.

Though that is more likely to be attributed to the cold.

“So you did,” Dean says slowly, finally meeting Cas’s eyes. “But not enough that I can’t still do this.”

Beside Cas, Sam flinches away, but he’s not the one in danger. Between one second and the next, Cas is suddenly lifted up, giving a shout as Dean hoists him over his shoulder and begins running around the courtyard, chortling heartily while Cas flails and yelps and giggles, because he knows he _should _ be upset, but he’s surprised and delighted and _Dean is home._

What could he possibly be upset about?

Back at the gate, Benny dismounts, wandering over to Sam and taking in the embarrassing display with tired eyes.

“It’s so nice that Cas is here, now,” Sam muses, sighing contentedly, and Benny grunts.

“Yeah, well, could he wait to be here until after we get some goddamn food?”

Eventually, Dean tires of trying to make Cas puke — “If I do, it will be on you!” Cas gasps out, but Dean just spins faster. “Listen, buddy, your vomit can’t be any dirtier than I am right now,” he says cheerfully. Cas, whose face has been rubbing up against the back of Dean’s tunic repeatedly for the last few minutes, is duly horrified — and the party makes their way into the great hall for the celebratory feast.

Despite his claims of indifference, Dean predictably insists on having a bath first, and Sam and Cas decide to wait for him to come back down, enjoying the suspiciously energetic antics of the returning army while they do so.

“I’ve never seen so much alcohol in one room,” Cas remarks, in awe, and Sam pats his arm.

“Well, you’ll get used to it, now that everyone’s back.”

Dean isn’t gone long, creeping up on them where they stand by the banquet table, and while Cas’s sense of smell seems to sharpen by the day, he’s surprised to scent Dean before he sees him, despite the proximity to all this food.

He’s also surprised to find that, like everything else, there’s something _different _about Dean’s smell.

But what is it? Cas scents the air, puzzled, searching out the familiar woodsy undertones, the sunshine filtering through just like it would the leaves, and yes — all of that is there, but now it seems _stronger_. Cas swears there’s notes of spice that weren’t there before, something warm and rich and inviting, and he follows it like he would some lovely baking emanation from the kitchens.

It’s only when he’s on his tiptoes, nose buried in the crook of Dean’s neck, trying to catch every elusive bit of spice and sun and forest and perhaps just the very faintest trace of some kind of muddled berry scent, that he realizes how odd he’s being.

Dean jerks back, eyes wide.

“Uh, hey there, Cas. What, uh, whatcha doin’?”

Cas tries to step back, give Dean a little more space, but he — he can’t. He finds himself rooted to the spot, still subtly sniffing at the air, and he has no idea _why, _or how to answer that question.

Because Dean smells — not _different, _ but _more. _And Cas was honestly just trying to pinpoint what had changed, but Dean’s expression is pure discomfort and Cas has the acute and terrible feeling of having done something wrong.

He scrambles for an answer. He’s seen alphas at court return to their omegas’ sides and scent their bared throats in greeting, but never the other way around; and he doesn’t think he’s seen _anyone_ openly scent someone else since he came to Lawrence, except when Dean did it at their wedding ceremony. He’s fairly certain it’s considered rude.

“I — in Eden,” he finally blurts out. “When someone’s been away for a — a very long time, you . . . scent them.”

Dean blinks, then relaxes, smiling.

“Oh, okay.” Behind him, Sam is giving Cas a Look, and Cas averts his gaze, face flaming. “Well, alright.”

And then Dean leans down, so close Cas can feel the warmth of him, and sniffs.

“Hm,” he muses, after a moment that seems to last longer even than Dean’s absence, before abruptly drawing back. “Not a lot of change, here. You still smell like ‘brat,’ with a hint of apple and ‘lies about being sick.’”

Cas is sure _Dean’s_ lying through his teeth, and given the teasing note to Dean's tone, he’s probably right.

But then Dean whirls, baring his throat and advancing on his brother.

“Alright, Sammy, I don’t want you to feel left out. Want some of this?”

“Ew, _Dean _— oh, my God, _no, _dude, get _off _me!”

Cas watches Dean mock-chase Sam around the hall for a few minutes, relieved to have both their attention off of him while he collects himself.

Because it’s true that Dean’s scent appears to have changed during their separation, grown more complex than Cas recalls, but that’s not _that _disturbing.

What really seems strange is how _good _Dean smells, now. And while Cas thought he had a nice smell, before, it wasn’t particularly noteworthy. Certainly, it never made Cas want to chase him around a room, but standing there, watching Dean and Sam dart around people and tables until they’re both winded from laughter and running —

It’s all Cas can do not to go ahead and _do_ it.

Very strange, indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * SPOILERS *  
Light violence/attempted kidnapping: Cas is reading in the woods when a Hellenian agent tries to drag him away, threatening him with a knife. Cas manages to get ahold of the knife and stab him.
> 
> Discussions of sex and heirs: Anna gives Cas a kind of censored version of The Talk. There is talk of heirs between Michael and John, as well as between Anna and Cas, though for the most part, all parties feel like it's too soon for that.
> 
> Mentions of Dean/others: In conversation a couple of times, it is indicated that Dean’s had a number of partners in the past. No specific details are given.


	3. Part III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: Almost Dean/other (marked by ** at the beginning and end of those two scenes). Discussions of sex/heats. Misunderstandings about Sam and Cas’s relationship (although neither of them have or ever will have feelings for one another). Detailed explanations in the end notes, please let me know if you feel I missed something.

As abso-fuckin’-lutely thrilled as Dean is to be back home, realizing how much he’s missed is considerably less awesome.

“. . . so Jo comes running into the courtyard and just bowls Cas over, totally oblivious, and starts whacking him with a wooden sword, and Michael’s just — oh my God, Dean, you should have seen his face. He so obviously wanted to pretend it wasn’t happening. I don’t even know how he recognized Cas, as muddy as he was.”

“He was furious,” Cas adds, vaguely gleeful. There’s still a little bit of awkward Edenish in there, but Dean is startled at just how animated he’s become since he last saw him.

And that’s the other thing; Sam is like a foot taller, now, and the blue-eyed slip of a thing he left behind eighteen months ago has become a little more than a slip. Dean feels like he’s missed out on half their childhoods, even though they sent him tons of letters (he’s technically heard this story before, although things are always better in person) and it was only eighteen months.

“He _wanted_ to tell everyone what to do — he always does — but he couldn’t_. _Anna looked like Christmas had come early,” Cas continues, and that’s another — worrisome — thing. Every time Cas has opened his mouth since Dean got home, Dean practically does a double-take, just to be sure that’s who’s talking.

That soft-but-sure voice he remembers from before has lowered, way more than Dean thinks is normal, and there’s this gravelly quality to it that’s raising all kinds of red flags.

He knows Sam and Cas lied about Cas’s illness last year, and now he’s wondering if they really _were_ lying about the severity. If Cas still sounds like this, Dean’s afraid he might have developed something chronic, which means he needs to talk with Bobby and Ellen and see what exactly it entails. Cas is dead-set on becoming the best knight in Lawrence, and Dean was totally on board with that — but if there’s something wrong with him . . .

It might not be _possible. _And there might be risks wiser heads should stop him from taking.

The only reason he hasn’t panicked and demanded answers is that Cas doesn’t _smell _ sick. He does smell different_, _less like pre-teen and wispy omega and more like — well, y’know, other stuff. Nice stuff, Dean guesses, although there’s still that clean, muted quality to it — but none of that’s important. The important thing is, there’s no trace of illness, as far as Dean can tell.

“I bet. I hope she didn’t end up doing dungeon time.” Dean clears his throat. “So, uh. Speaking of things I missed while I was busy waiting around at the border . . .”

He glances between them, carefully checking for reactions.

“’Bout that time Cas got sick.”

Because even if Dean can’t smell it, like he could a cold or flu or infection, there could be something sneaky and internal, something persistent and subtle that he might not be able to sniff out at all.

“Oh.” Cas shifts in his seat, and hey, _that’s _not suspicious. “Uh. I caught cold. I’m fine.”

“Uh-huh.” Dean looks at Sam. “And what did _you _have to do with it?”

“Oh, um. Well — Cas and I liked to sit outside the gate and read, and I guess the weather—”

“Woah, woah, hold the fuck up, Sammy. _Outside the gate? _ Dude, we were at _war. _You’re lucky nothing happened!”

Sam coughs, ears a little red, and Cas looks down, inspecting his plate.

“Yes, nothing happened. Except getting sick.”

Right. Shifty as fuck.

“And does this _illness _have anything to do with why you sound like one of those weird dragon-shifters you were reading about before I left?”

“What?” Cas looks puzzled. “What do you mean?”

Across the table, Sam blinks, and then sort of smiles.

“Huh. He’s right. I see you every day, so it didn’t seem like a big deal.”

“What?” Dean demands, looking between them anxiously. “What didn’t seem like a big deal? What’s wrong with the kid?”

Sam smirks at him.

“Nothing. His voice dropped, Dean. That’s just how he sounds now.”

“_What_?” Dean stares at Cas, like the secret to this mystery will crawl out of his mouth and deliver its explanation. “Dude, you’re only sixteen. What the fuck?”

“Dean,” Sam chides, and Dean holds up a hand.

“You’re not lyin’ again, are you?”

Cas looks bewildered, and way too innocent to not be up to something.

“No? Why would I lie?”

“Swear to God, if you’re dying and it’s messin’ up your throat or whatever, you better tell me.”

“I’m not dying,” he protests, incredulous, and although _something’s _going on, Dean feels marginally reassured.

“Hm. If you say so. I’m getting a refill,” he adds, grabbing his cup and heading off to the table.

**

It turns out to be a pretty good decision, because when he turns back around, Pamela has cornered him.

“The Hero of Lawrence returns,” she drawls, eyes light. “Blessed day.”

Dean rolls his eyes, but he grins, opening his arms for a hug.

She accepts it, squeezing his ass while she’s at it, but he doesn’t mind.

“Good to see you, Pam.”

“Likewise.” She winks. “You look good, Dean.”

“Listen, if you wanna help me celebrate my return, come see me in a few drinks,” he jokes, and Pamela smirks.

“Oh? Promise?”

Which — oh, shit. It’s not like they never do that, but Dean figured he’d bathe, eat, and go straight to sleep. He’s been stuck out with the troops bitching about the cold or the heat and living in a goddamn tent for so long, he kind of forgot there are other comforts of home, and sometimes he’s one of them.

He grins.

“Knight’s honor,” he swears, and Pamela laughs, smile turning warm as she punches his shoulder.

“It’s good to have you all back. Castle’s been empty.”

“Good. I assume somebody’d have written me if Hellenia tried anything out here,” he teases, and Pamela’s face goes a little funny.

“Oh, absolutely,” she assures him after a beat, and then licks her lips. “Well, I guess I’ll see you in a couple of drinks, sugar.”

She glides away, a little too quickly to be her usual saunter, but Dean doesn’t think much of it, returning to the table with a bounce in his step.

He’s tired as fuck, but it’s been a long time since he had some free time in a nice border town and there’s nothing like having something to look forward to to boost your energy. Besides, it’s Pam. It’s pretty much a guarantee they’re going to have fun together, because whether they’re sparring in the courtyard or making faces while Bobby and John fight or rumpling the sheets, Pam’s a good friend and they always have fun together.

**

Even Sam’s inexplicable bitch face when he sits back down can’t ruin his mood, especially not when Cas has half-a-dozen fucking honey cakes on his plate now and he looks like fully intends to eat them all.

“Gonna be okay, buddy?”

Cas looks up, surprised.

“Yes?”

“Are you sure?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“That’s a lot of cake.”

Cas blinks.

“Yes,” he agrees slowly, frowning. “But actually, Dean, if you look at them, you’ll realize they’re very small. Six is hardly any.”

“Hardly any,” Dean echoes, and then swipes one off the plate, just to s— “_Ow. _What the hell, man?”

“I could ask the same of you,” Cas sniffs, and returns the cake to the stack while Dean rubs his arm. Cas is a lot stronger than when Dean left, that’s for sure.

And Sam _must_ know six is way too many to eat in one sitting, but he’s too busy laughing to back Dean up on this. Dean scowls at him; as much grief as Sam gives him about his own food habits, Dean would think he’d be all over this apparent honeycake addiction. Apparently not.

Celebrations last a couple more hours, and by the time the hall starts emptying out, Dean’s both a little drunk and a little drunk on _happiness._

One thing’s for sure; he’s never going away that long again if he can help it.

**

Dean says good night to Sam and Cas, catching Pamela’s eye with a grin and meeting her somewhere at the stairs.

“Sure you’re still up for it?” he drawls. “I saw you playing Never Have I Ever.”

“I always win at that game.”

“You basically have to drink _every_ time.”

She winks.

“I always win at that game.”

Dean laughs.

“Fine, as long as you can get it up.”

“That’s up to you, handsome.”

Dean’s pretty sure when Pamela says ‘handsome,’ she means ‘you adorable thing, you,’ but he’ll take it.

There’s a brief makeout detour in a secluded little alcove, but after a while Dean gets creeped out by one of his great-great-great grandparent’s watching him from the portrait hanging there.

“The dead have better things to do,” Pamela chides him, but tugs him out of the alcove and up toward his room, where —

Cas is waiting.

Dean blinks.

“Uh. Hey, Cas. I thought you and Sam went back to the barracks?”

As an afterthought, he lets go of Pamela’s hand. Cas is so naive, he doubts the kid’ll pick up on anything, or know what conclusions to draw if he does, but Dean one-hundred-percent doesn’t wanna be the one responsible for giving Cas _that _talk.

Anyway, he lives in the barracks. By the time it’s relevant — when he’s like, twenty-five or so — he’ll probably have guessed what’s what.

Cas tilts his head, looking between them and squinting.

“Sam did. What are you doing?”

Which a) doesn’t answer Dean’s question and b) is pretty damn unfair.

“Uh. Escorting the lady back to her chamber.” Dean’s not sure why he’s bothering. He could probably literally tell Cas what he and Pamela were going to do in there without it being a problem, but then Cas might ask ‘what does that mean’ and Dean would end up giving him The Talk instead of getting laid, _which _ _—_ no thanks.

Cas narrows his eyes further.

“Dean,” he says seriously. “Last week Pamela bested three opponents in combat with a blindfold on. I’m not sure she needs an escort anywhere.”

“Aw, you flatterer,” Pamela murmurs, although she looks _incredibly _amused by the situation.

Dean’s often thought other people’s social discomfort is on par with sex for Pamela.

“Right. But, you know. Just, uh, just in case.”

Cas nods.

“I see. I’ll wait, then. I thought we could catch up before bed. And then I should sleep here, so I don’t disturb the others when I go back to the barracks.”

“Oh. Uh — okay. That — that makes sense.” Kind of. Except for the part where Dean is starting to think he won’t be getting laid tonight, because how is he supposed to tell Cas he can’t sleep here without telling him it’s because Pamela probably will be?

God, maybe he _should _give Cas that talk. This is awkward as fuck.

Cas raises his brows.

“Aren’t you going to go?”

“Y-yeah. Yeah, sure. I’ll just be — right back.”

Dean avoids Pamela’s smirking gaze until they’ve made it down the hallway and around the corner.

“Smooth,” she mutters, and Dean scowls.

“Look, Cas is, uh. Kind of oblivious.”

“Oh, I know. I’ve probably spent more time with him than you have.”

That raises Dean’s hackles for some reason. Supervising trainees doesn’t count, not like the rambling, endearingly honest letters Dean received every time the post came.

“Yeah, but — trust me. Kid’s got no clue about anything.”

“Really,” Pamela says slowly. “Interesting.”

“Eden’s weird like that,” Dean offers, and she hums.

“He’s lived in Lawrence a couple years now.”

“So? It’s not like anyone here would be talkin’ to him about that.”

“You think so? He _is _sixteen. Lots of friends in the barracks, now. I know Meg has her eye on him.”

Dean frowns.

“Well, she can take it off. He’s not sixteen the way other people are, alright? Seriously, if somebody’s takin’ advantage—”

Pamela waves her hand.

“Oh, no, I think even the kiddos know better than _that. _ But he can’t stay _that _far behind his peers, Dean. He might not be as naive as you think.”

“He’s exactly as naive as I think,” Dean mutters. “Or else he would have taken one look at us and gone back to the barracks, like a decent friend.”

“But he’s not your friend, is he?” Pamela counters, coming to a stop in front of her door. “He’s your _husband, _whatever that means.”

Dean stares.

“It doesn’t mean anything, except that Eden’s not gonna try and attack us in the night.”

Pamela smiles at him, tilting her head up and kissing his cheek.

“Kids can be fragile, Dean. You should keep that in mind. Good night, handsome.”

**

Pamela shuts her door on him while he’s still trying to process that.

His efforts prove fruitless, however — Cas really isn’t like other kids, and the less grown-up drama gets shoved his way, the better. All he wants to do is focus on his training and read books with Sam, and all Dean wants is for him to be able to do that without distractions.

Dean returns to his room, only to find Cas has already gone inside and made himself comfortable in a chair.

“Before you say anything,” he says quickly, giving Dean a suspicious look. “I already sent for a bath.”

“Who said I was gonna say anything?”

Cas just looks at him.

“_Anyway. _Don’t go to sleep until I’m done,” he instructs, then stands at the knock on the door.

“I make no promises,” Dean warns him, just to be difficult, and fakes a yawn. “It’s been a long few months. I plan to spend a lot of time catching up on sleep.”

Cas looks alarmed.

“I’ll hurry,” he assures him, and then flees into the bathroom, Dean suppressing a chuckle behind him.

He spends a little bit of time unpacking his personal effects, and when he’s done, he knocks on the bathroom door.

“Hey, Cas, my pajamas are in there. I’m comin’ in, okay?”

He slips into the room without waiting for a response, heading for the neatly folded pajamas on the dresser in there.

Cas yelps.

“Dean!”

Dean whips around, startled.

“What? What? What happened?”

Cas is huddled in the tub, looking scandalized.

“I’m _bathing._”

“Yeah, buddy, I can see that. What’s wrong?”

“No — that _is _what’s wrong. You can’t just — walk in while I’m —” Cas jerks his head at the tub. “Like this.”

Dean’s about to point out that not only can he not see Cas, given that he’s ensconced in a tub, but he’s spent the last year and a half accustomed to less-than-ideal community bathing situations and it’s honestly not a big deal, but Cas looks incredibly upset and then Dean remembers that oh, yeah, he grew up in Eden.

Which — Dean’s surprised how often he forgets, given that Sam kept pointing it out in his letters. Apparently Dean told Cas a dirty joke that embarrassed Cas so much he wouldn’t even ask what it meant — and if Cas isn’t asking hilariously blunt questions, you _know _ he must be embarrassed — and he got a two page lecture on Edenish customs and how Dean needed to be more _considerate._

So Dean takes a deep breath and does his best to be considerate.

“Oh. Sorry. Honestly, when we were out along the border, a lot of the times it was like twenty people washing up in the river, so I guess I forgot what civilization was like.”

Cas looks extremely disturbed.

“_Dean,_” he hisses. “As much as I appreciate that, _please leave._”

Ooh. Right. That’s probably what Dean should have started with.

He holds up an apologetic hand, snagging his pajamas and heading for the door —

Only to stop two feet from the tub, because what the _hell _happened to Cas’s arm?

“Dude, what the hell happened to your arm?”

Cas’s eyes widen, before following Dean’s gaze to a nasty looking scar that must be four inches long, right across the meat of his shoulder. He turns bright red.

And then he throws a wet washcloth at Dean’s face.

Dean decides he should probably wait until Cas is done to talk about it.

“Okay, buddy. What’s with the shoulder?” Dean asks, toweling off Cas’s damp, unruly hair, even though the kid’s apparently not sick and therefore must just be being lazy.

Dean did interrupt his bath, though, which is probably a giant faux pas in Eden, so he supposes it’s fair.

Cas tenses a little.

“It — it happened in training.”

“No way is Bobby letting your rank use that kind of blade in training. Try again.”

Cas lets out a long-suffering sigh.

“It’s not important.”

Dean tugs a little harder than necessary with the towel, and Cas makes a frankly adorable grumbly noise.

“Cas. If you don’t tell me, I’ll go ask Bobby.”

“Okay. Ask Bobby.”

Oh, so _that’s _how he wants to play it?

“And I’ll just assume since you’re not mature enough to have a conversation, you must not be mature enough for extra training sessions in the courtyard.

Cas inhales sharply.

“Dean, that — that isn't _fair._”

“Liars don’t get privileges.”

“I’m not — you were trying to fight Hellenia! Bobby said you’d worry if I told you the truth!”

“Uh-huh. And what is the truth?”

Cas huffs, looking resentfully to the side.

“Last September. One of the nights I was reading by myself, an agent of Hellenia tried to kidnap me.”

Dean stops drying Cas’s hair, although by this point, he’s mostly just massaging the brat’s scalp with the towel.

“Excuse me?”

“It was fine,” Cas adds hastily. “I stabbed him and he was captured.”

“_Excuse me_?”

“It wasn’t my fault.”

“Of fucking course it wasn’t your — what the _hell_? Why didn’t anyone tell me?”

“I told you, Bobby said you’d worry. And Sam said you’d ‘go all bitchy alpha.’”

“Damn right I’d go all bitchy alpha! Who the hell do they think they are, trying to kidnap an innocent kid? What did they even _want _with you?”

“Well, Bobby said they were hoping to convince Michael to make a deal with them instead, and help invade Lawrence.”

“Sure, sure, but that still doesn’t answer my question.”

Cas sighs.

“He said if they’d succeeded, they would have had Michael denounce our marriage and marry me to someone in Hellenia.”

“_What_? But — they can’t do that!”

“They can’t _now. _The war is over. But at the time, they could have, because we haven’t made any heirs.”

Dean gapes, speechless.

“Heirs?” he finally repeats.

Cas nods.

“Heirs. Until we have an heir, Lawrence’s interests on behalf of Eden are uncertain.”

What — what the actual fuck? Why is Dean’s sixteen-year old husband talking to him about _heirs_? Does Cas even know how heirs are _made_?

Ten minutes ago, Dean would have laughed and said probably not, but Cas looks so serious, Dean is kind of wondering.

“Right. I — guess I never thought about it.”

Cas almost looks relieved.

“Yes. I personally don’t think it should be relevant, but apparently we’re expected to produce some at some point.”

“Yeah, at — at some point. Um, but — at what point, again?”

Cas straightens, abruptly looking determined.

“Actually, I had hoped to speak with you about that,” he starts, and Dean’s blood pressure must be pushing lethal rates, because oh, _fuck, _ some crazy person got to Cas and now the kid’s about to suggest they go ahead and make some heirs and _hell no._

“Listen, Cas,” Dean tries, but Cas shoots him an unimpressed look.

“Please don’t interrupt me.”

Dean used to want to laugh when Cas let out one of his severe little request-slash-demands, but this is no laughing matter and his voice can actually manage _stern _now, and mostly Dean just gulps, waiting for the worst.

“Okay,” he agrees, and Cas nods.

“I don’t want to have heirs right now,” he announces, and then squints at Dean, clearly waiting for a reaction.

Dean, for his part, could dissolve into a puddle of _relief._

“Awesome,” he manages, and Cas looks surprised.

“Really?”

“Absolutely. I don’t want heirs right now, either.”

Cas breaks out into a smile.

“Alright. Good.”

“And besides, you’re way too young.”

Cas’s smile freezes, and then slides right into a frown.

“You make it sound like I’m a child.”

Dean raises his brows.

“Well, you are.”

“Excuse me? I’m _sixteen, _Dean.”

“Exactly — you’re _sixteen. _And don’t give me that crap, I know in Eden you wouldn’t do your guys’ challenge thing until you were twenty.”

Cas purses his lips.

“Knighthood is not synonymous with manhood. At sixteen, I would be sent on missions.”

“Yeah, well, you’re not in Eden. You’re in Lawrence, and in Lawrence you’ll be staying put, because _you’re a child._”

And maybe Dean should shut up, because Cas is beginning to look quietly furious, but come _on. _ It’s one thing to have indulged Cas when he was barely a teenager and all he was angling for was continuing his training, but letting Cas think he’s an adult and he has any business making adult choices is a recipe for disaster at this point. Hence the big-ass scar on his right shoulder and, you know, almost getting _kidnapped._

“Need I remind you how I got this scar? I’m capable of defending myself as well as anyone.”

“That was _one time, _and since you were stupid enough to be outside the gate in the first place, I really don’t think you wanna bring that up.”

Cas sucks in a breath.

“Fight me.”

“What?”

“I think the time has come for you to fight me. Do that, and I will show you I’m a man.”

“I’m not fighting you, because I don’t fight children.”

“I am _not _a child—”

“Do you even know how heirs are made?” Dean counters, and it’s a cheap shot, because Cas is sensitive about his own naivete and this particular thing probably has more to do with culture differences than anything else, but — the situation is clearly getting out of hand if Cas actually thinks he’s advanced enough to defend himself.

That kind of thinking makes you take stupid risks, like sitting around outside the castle gate, and stupid risks get you killed. And since Cas is Dean’s responsibility now —

Dean’s going to make sure he understands the importance of recognizing his own weaknesses, and letting other people handle them.

Cas is glaring at him.

“Of _course _I know how heirs are made. Do I look like a child to y— oh, wait. Apparently I do.”

God. _Teenagers._

Dean’s a little surprised, enough that he doesn’t buy it.

“Really. Tell me, then.”

Cas looks taken aback.

“Don’t _you _know?”

And this time he’s not being sarcastic, and Dean’s suddenly _sure _Cas doesn’t really know.

“Oh, I know. I just don’t think _you _do.”

“Bedroom things,” Cas snaps, and then hesitates. “Sex. You have sex without protection, or during a heat or rut. And then you have heirs.”

Dean’s initial response is surprise, because maybe Cas knows after all, but then he zeroes in on the ‘bedroom things’ thing.

“Uh-huh. And what exactly does sex entail?”

Cas colors, and Dean narrows his eyes, trying to figure out if that’s Cas being embarrassed he doesn’t know or embarrassed because he _does _know and he knows it’s an awkward thing to discuss.

“Touching bodies. In the — this region.” Cas gestures to a very broad zone between his navel and knees, and then adds, “Unclothed.”

“Just touching?” Dean presses, determined to call his bluff, and Cas huffs.

“Yes.”

Dean smirks.

“See? You don’t know.”

Cas’s mouth falls open.

“I just told you—”

“Yeah, no, there’s _way _more to it than that. Which you would know if you were an adult. But you’re not. You’re a kid. You’re not old enough to wander around outside the gate and you’re not old enough to have heirs and actually, you’re not old enough to have sex, either, whether you know what it is or not.”

Cas is silent for a long time, and Dean is just settling back, smug, because he knows he’s won, when Cas abruptly stands, gaze furious.

“I think I’ll sleep in the barracks after all,” he says, and stalks right out of the room.

Dean’s been back less than twenty four hours and he’s already made Cas storm out on a fight.

Victory suddenly feels a little hollow.

“Sam, what is sex?”

Sam chokes on his toast.

“_What_?”

“What is sex?” Cas repeats, impatient. “I thought I knew, but apparently I don’t, and I need to.”

Swallowing the bite, Sam sets the rest of it down, cautiously turning to Cas.

“Um, why do you need to know what sex is? And — seriously? You don’t know?”

Cas isn’t sure what his face does in response to that, but Sam winces.

“I mean, not that — it’s fine if you don’t. I don’t know why you would.”

“_Thank you,_” Cas says, perhaps a touch more frosty than Sam deserves, but Cas barely slept last night for fury at Dean.

No _wonder _ Bobby told them to lie; Cas isn’t even sure _how_ they got where they did last night, but he does know _why._

Because Dean was being an _assbutt._

“I need to show Dean that I know.”

Sam recoils.

“I — do not need to know that. Wow, yeah, no, I really — I really don’t need to know that, or think about that, and — and maybe you should talk to Bobby.”

Cas deflates a little.

“Oh. You don’t know either.” He’s not sure if that helps or hurts his point, that Sam, two years older than him, doesn’t know this important adult thing.

“It’s not that — but, um, I’m not the best person to — to explain it, and the thing is Cas, there’s, um, things, that are personal, and especially when it’s my brother and my best friend, I don’t — I’d rather not talk about them?”

Cas blinks.

“I’m your best friend?” he asks, ire at Dean temporarily forgotten.

“Uh, yeah? I think? We always eat together and hang out everyday.”

Cas smiles a little at the floor.

“Then you must be my best friend, too,” he confirms, and Sam laughs.

“Probably? Just — don’t talk to me about sex with Dean, okay?”

Well, that should be easy enough. Cas has no reason to talk about that; all he wants is for someone to tell him what sex is so Dean will be forced to admit Cas is a grown-up.

“Alright,” he agrees, but the fact remains that Sam is refusing to share his knowledge, and Cas _needs _to know. “I’ll see you later, Sam. I need to speak with Bobby.”

Bobby starts walking away as soon as Cas gets the question out.

“Bobby,” Cas calls, jogging after him. “Please. I realize this is uncomfortable to discuss, but I _need _to know.”

Bobby sighs, rubbing his forehead.

“Alright. Why do you need to know?”

“Because Dean called me a _child, _ and when I pointed out I was sixteen and an _adult, _ he asked if I even knew how children came to be. And I _thought _I did, but he said that wasn’t everything, and now I need you to tell me so I can prove him wrong.”

Bobby pauses.

“I don’t think he’s gonna think that proves anything, boy. The difference between you knowin’ and not knowin’ is a conversation. If you don’t need to know, we might as well save it.”

“Bobby, _please. _Are you really going to stand by and let him treat me like this?”

“Treat you like what, now?”

“Like a _child._”

“Listen, son, you’ve gotten real handy with a sword and you’re clever to boot. But you’re only sixteen.”

“So?”

“So, unless Dean’s baby-talkin’ you and trying to force-feed you vegetables, he’s right. You’re still a kid. Enjoy it while it lasts.”

Cas just stares.

This is a _nightmare._

“How can you take his side?”

Bobby snorts.

“Wanna know a secret, kid? Dean’s a child, too. All y’all are children to somebody as old as me. Learn to live with it.”

Clearly, he’s not going to win this argument.

“Alright. Still — tell me about sex.”

“No.”

“I deserve to know.”

“Sure. And you will. At some point.”

Cas crosses his arms, frustrated. What can he say to convince _someone, anyone, _to tell him?

And then he remembers his talk with Anna, and it hits him.

“How will I know how to avoid having children if I don’t?” Cas counters, and that gives Bobby pause.

“Aw, hell.” Bobby sighs. “Okay. Come sit down.”

Cas eagerly follows him into his study, perching on one of the chairs and looking at him expectantly.

“Ya remember that time Hellenia tried to haul you off and marry you to somebody else, and we talked about how sometimes, we don’t always get the choices we deserve?”

“Yes?”

“This is another one of those times,” Bobby says bluntly, and Cas deflates.

Does this mean he’s _not _ going to tell Cas? What on earth is the big secret? Does it have anything to do with why sometimes his barrack-mates will be whispering about something and as soon as Cas asks what it’s about, they all look guilty and say ‘toad populations’ or ‘bread-making techniques’ when Cas _knows _none of them know anything about that?

Bobby continues before he can say anything.

“The stuff you’re askin’ about, Cas — you’re not allowed to do it.”

“Is it because you think I’m not old enough?” Cas asks, deeply vexed, although he has no real interest in doing sex, especially if it means he might have children before he wants them. “When Michael visited, John suggested the possibility that we might have heirs when I’m sixteen.”

He gives Bobby a pointed look, and wishes he’d thought of this last night, when he was fighting with Dean.

“And that could happen, though I don’t think it’s a good idea. But here’s the thing, Cas. It’s not about how old you are.”

“It’s not?” Cas tilts his head. “Then why am I not allowed?”

“It ain’t — it ain’t that you’re not allowed to do it, exactly. You’re just not allowed to do it with anybody besides Dean.”

“Oh.” Cas takes a moment to consider this, thinking of Pamela outside Dean’s room last night. He was pretty sure she was there to do bedroom things, because he _knew _ she didn’t need protection on her way back to her chamber, and it had been surprisingly upsetting — if only because Dean was obviously _lying _to Cas about it, and Cas was certainly mature enough to know the truth about such things. “But Dean does it with other people.”

Bobby looks taken aback.

“Uh. Does he, now.” He scratches his head. “How d’you know that?”

“Something Sam said. Also, Dean and Pamela were outside his room last night, and he tried to say she needed an escort to her room.”

Bobby snorts.

“What an idjit.” He sighs. “Listen, son. Lawrence is real different from Eden; we don’t discriminate too much about genders and subgenders and whatnot. But even if you were a beta, or a girl alpha, being married to the crown prince — bein’ the one in the marriage who’s gonna be puttin’ out those heirs — means you got a different set o’ rules.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Put plainly, if Dean makes a mistake and has a child with somebody else, it’s unfortunate, but not the end o’ the world. If you make a mistake and you _have _somebody else’s child — well, you’ll have to get divorced and John’ll probably send you back to Eden and the whole treaty’ll be in jeopardy.”

This is all news to Cas. He knew Dean having children with someone else wouldn’t solve the heir problem, but it had never occurred to him that _he _could cause trouble by doing the same.

The idea of Dean divorcing him, and being sent back to Eden, where Michael will be angry at him on top of everything else—

It’s horrifying.

“But there’s medicine you can take.”

“It ain’t a hundred percent, Cas. And even if it were, people can’t think you’re sleepin’ around on Dean before you’ve given him a coupla heirs. They could try and challenge their legitimacy later, cause a whole mess o’ trouble.”

“I see.” Cas frowns. Especially in light of last night’s argument, being told he’s not allowed to do something Dean apparently is is very upsetting.

However, he sees the reasoning behind it, and he’s not interested in doing sex with Dean or anyone else, so he supposes there’s no reason to fight this one.

“Then — you _have _ to tell me what sex is, so I _don’t _do it with anyone else.”

Bobby narrows his eyes.

“Maybe so. But you did say you already knew a thing or two. Mind tellin’ me what?”

Cas perks up. Could Dean have been _lying _when he suggested Cas didn’t know the whole story?

He quickly relates the tale of the unclothed lower-region touching to Bobby, and Bobby nods, rubbing his jaw thoughtfully.

“Hm. Alright.”

“Are you going to tell me now?”

Bobby shakes his head.

“Nope, that oughta do it. Just don’t get naked with anybody, and certainly don’t do any o’ _that _stuff, and you’ll be fine.”

Cas gapes.

“But — you said —”

“I didn’t say nothin’. I _implied _I’d tell you what ya needed to know to stay outta trouble, and I did. You’re sixteen. Someone’ll tell you when it’s relevant, but unless you and Dean are plannin’ on startin’ a family right now, it ain’t relevant. Now get back to the field.”

Cas is _surrounded _by injustice, isn’t he?

But what he can say?

Defeated, Cas offers Bobby a short nod and leaves the study without another word.

Cas is _still _pissed off today, which is just ridiculous. Dean didn’t tell him anything that wasn’t true, and God only knows where Cas got the idea that he was already an adult.

Still, even when Dean invites him to the courtyard to train after Cas is done for the day on the field, Cas only hesitates for a moment before squaring his shoulders.

“I would,” he says coolly. “But Sam and I are going to read this evening.”

Dean thought it was adorable that Sam and Cas were getting so close when he just heard about it from letters, but now that he’s here and Cas is turning down Dean’s invaluable wisdom and expertise so he can sit under a tree with Sammy, it’s not cute at all.

Before Hellenia started fucking around at the border, Dean couldn’t walk twenty feet without tripping over the kid, but now he’d rather read _books _ and hang out with _Sam_?

Dean gets that they’re closer in age, probably have more in common, but — Dean’s still interesting, too, isn’t he? He’s only been back a _day, _for chrissakes!

Cas slips away without so much as a goodbye, and Dean stews for about twenty minutes before he decides nobody ever said Dean wasn’t allowed to sit and read, too. He can patch things up with Cas and spend some much-needed time with Sammy; it’s an awesome plan, and he should have thought of it twenty minutes ago.

Cas scowls when Dean eventually locates them under a tree by the kitchen garden.

“Do you need something, Dean?”

“Just a comfy spot to read,” he says cheerfully, squeezing in between them. “How’s it goin’, Sammy?”

Sam is looking between them curiously, but he shrugs.

“Pretty good. Did you bring a book?”

Damn.

“Uh, no. I can share Cas’s.”

“No, you can’t,” Cas mutters, edging away from Dean.

Dean scoots right after him, just to be obnoxious, and studiously avoids remembering who the adult here actually is.

“Well, I have an extra, but if you’re going to keep coming out here, you should bring your own.” He looks like he’s about to go back to his book, and then pauses. “Oh, and don’t let Dad know we’re still doing this, okay?”

Dean blinks, quest to annoy Cas momentarily abandoned as he parses Sam’s words.

“Okay. Remind me again why Dad’s not supposed to know?”

Sam swallows.

“You know — because Cas got sick that one time.”

“Cas got almost-kidnapped that one time, you mean,” Dean deadpans, and Sam’s mouth falls open.

“How do you know that?”

“I told him. Sorry, Sam,” Cas says, sounding genuinely apologetic.

“No, that’s fine — I’m just surprised.”

“You and me both, Sammy. Now what was Dad _actually _pissed at you about?”

Sam hesitates, glancing at Cas, which isn’t suspicious at all.

“Nothing. He just — because of what happened, he thought Cas and I shouldn’t read together anymore.”

There’s something awkward, something _careful, _about how Sam says that, and if Dean thinks about it, he might be able to see John chewing Sam out for not moving their reading sessions inside the gate immediately, but there’s no earthly reason he’d have a problem with them doing it twenty feet from the kitchens.

Unless in addition to being pissed about _where _it was happening, he was pissed about it happening at all.

Dean leans back against the tree, a little shocked as he scans his memory for clues, and mostly what it keeps coming back to is a thing he barely even noticed at the time.

Sam and Cas, waiting in the courtyard — holding hands.

He’d figured they were just excited he was coming home, doin’ a thing kids do — but maybe Dean should have been paying more attention to the letters. If he missed what he thinks he’s been missing — then yeah, he knows _exactly _why Dad is trying to keep them apart.

It’s not that Dean’s not sympathetic. This his brother and his — charge, of sorts. He loves ‘em both, and he wants them to be as happy as they can stand.

But them being in love with _each other_?

That’s not going to make _anyone _ happy, and even once Dean and Cas do the whole heirs thing and Cas gets to do what he wants, Sam is still not going to be an eligible candidate for that, because he’s Dean’s _brother, _and people will have opinions about it.

It’s not like Sam’s the fifth alpha kid, either; John will expect him to get married, and Dean knows Sam well enough to know that’s not going to happen if Sam has something going on with Cas.

Jesus, what a mess.

It could just be puppy love, though, he reasons, not at all reading the book Sam gave him. Sam’s an awkward, gangly type, and Cas did grow up quite a bit since Dean last saw him; he’s a good-looking kid, and if they’re bonding over books and whatever else, Dean can see how some confusing feelings would have developed.

But those feelings really can’t stick around, and Dean’s not sure how to tell Sam that. That even if it _wouldn’t _be a problem, later, he’ll be waiting for Cas for a long time, and until then, John is right to worry they’ll do something stupid.

It leaves him feeling unsettled and — if he’s being honest, a little frustrated with Sam. While Cas might be oblivious, Dean knows Sam isn’t. He doesn’t want to break any tender young hearts here, but it’s better to nip this in the bud than burn the whole damn rosebush in a couple of years, right?

They head to dinner, and Dean pulls Sam aside, sending a scowling Cas on ahead to fix his plate.

“Uh. So, uh, Sam, there’s somethin’ I wanted to talk to you about.”

Sam looks concerned.

“Okay?”

“Now, I couldn’t help but notice that Cas is — is a lot more grown up than when I left.”

Sam blanches.

So, it’s as Dean suspected.

“Uh, Dean—”

“He’s growin’ up pretty damn handsome, and he’s not bad company. I don’t think anyone could blame a guy for looking at him and feeling a spark, and wanting to, uh, spend some time — Sam?”

Sam is backing up, shaking his head.

“No. No, Dean, no. This is your business and that’s fine, although if you take advantage of him, I’ll find a way to kick your ass, but I do _not _want to hear about it, from either one of you!”

That said, Sam hurries off to the table, leaving Dean staring after him in confusion.

Huh. Maybe he should have been more subtle.

The joke’s on Dean and Bobby — and Cas, too, unfortunately — because by the end of the week, Cas finally gets someone to tell him what sex is.

He’s had exactly two heats before, and as uncomfortable as they were, particularly the second one, Cas was mostly able to go on business-as-usual and put it out of his mind.

So when Cas says goodnight to Sam after dinner (pointedly ignoring Dean) and heads back for the barracks, only to start feeling unnaturally cold despite his thick layers of clothing, he isn’t worried.

But the next morning, drenched in sweat and body aching — a good dozen hours sooner than would be normal, in his opinion — Cas is _definitely _worried.

He’s already miserable, flushed and hot and skin oversensitive, when Alfie sympathetically insists he go stay in one of the infirmary rooms instead of going to practice.

Ellen takes one look at him and sighs.

“Told ya they’d get worse,” she says, and Cas just shuffles pitifully after her while she leads him to one of the sick rooms. “Let’s get you into a cold bath.”

The cold bath helps, for about thirty minutes, but then the room feels _stifling _ with heat, although he shivers constantly, and he can’t remember feeling quite so — so — he doesn’t even _know _what. All he knows is that it’s impossible to get comfortable and he wants it to be over even more than usual.

It’s only when the evening comes that Cas realizes this is _definitely _different than usual.

Despite the late hour of the day, Cas is having _a morning situation._

But this time, it won’t go _away._

Cas waits a full hour, discomfort steadily turning to fear, before he finally crawls out of bed and shuffles out of the room, cheeks flaming.

“Ellen?” he calls weakly, and she appears at the end of the hall.

“You need something, hon?”

“Um. I — I think —” he takes a deep breath. “I think there’s something very wrong with me.”

She hurries down the hall, concerned.

“What do you think is wrong?”

He hesitates, acutely embarrassed, since Anna gave him the impression that it was awkward to talk about, and since then, he’s heard some of the boys in the barracks making fun of each other for it.

“I — my — it won’t go away,” Cas manages, and things really _are _bad this time, because he feels tears pricking at his eyes. “It always goes away.”

Ellen looks baffled for a few seconds, and then her mouth forms an ‘o’.

And then she winces.

“Aw, hell. Sorry, honey, your last two were so mild I thought you had a little more time.”

“More time? Ellen — _am _I dying?”

“No, no, don’t be daft. Unfortunately, this is all normal.”

Normal? _Normal_? How on earth can this much suffering be _normal_? This is worse than when he was nearly kidnapped.

“I don’t understand.”

She sighs, patting him on the head, even though he’s an inch or so taller than her now.

“Go back to your room and I’ll be right there, alright?”

“What’s going on?” he tries again, and she shakes her head.

“You’re gonna be just fine, hon. I gotta get some stuff for you and then I think we better have a talk.”

Cas burrows under his blankets, feeling altogether pitiful, and about five minutes later, Ellen reappears, cloth bag in one hand, wide scroll in the other.

She empties the bag onto the bed, and Cas squints at the item. It’s nothing he recognizes.

“What is that?”

Ellen unrolls her scroll and holds it up.

It appears to be some anatomical diagram, several bodies of varying designations, small-printed labels written all over.

And then she does explain, answers all the questions he’s been trying to ask everyone else and a lot more questions he didn’t even know to ask.

She doesn’t pull any punches; it’s both a lot more clear and a lot more clinical than anything Anna told him, and Cas’s face is burning from more than the heat by the time she’s finished explaining what his body is apparently trying to do.

“Any questions?” she asks, once she’s done, and Cas just shakes his head.

“No. No, I — I understand.”

“Okay. You gonna be alright in here if I head out for a couple hours? Your pitcher of water’s full and everything?”

Cas just nods.

“Okay. Remember, you’re gonna be just fine, alright? It’ll pass, just like the other ones. And when it’s a little less bad, we’ll go out in the yard and train — just like we did the other times. Got it?”

He nods again, and she pats his cheek.

“I’ll see you in a couple o’ hours.”

She shuts the door behind her, and Cas stares at the thing on the bed, the thing that can supposedly _help _ him. That is somehow supposed to make him _less _ uncomfortable, even though Cas feels, more fervently than ever, that _this should not be happening in the first place._

He picks it up and throws it across the room.

And then he burrows back into the bed and lets himself cry.

“Hey, Sammy. Where’s Cas?”

Sam sighs, setting his book down as Dean takes a seat under the tree.

“Jo says his heat started today and it’s really bad. I tried to go see him, but Ellen told me to come back tomorrow.”

Dean blinks.

“Uh. Isn’t he a little young for that?”

Sam gives him a weird look.

“He’s sixteen.”

Dean frowns. Yeah, okay. He’d had a few mild ruts before then, but —

“But it shouldn’t be _that_ bad.”

“His last couple _weren’t. _He pretty much did all the same things he usually did.”

“Okay. Well — weird, but — nothin’ to worry about, right?”

Sam scowls.

“Jo says Ellen _is_ kind of worried. It’s so _frustrating. _ And I want to go see him, because he _has _to be feeling kind of freaked out, and I don’t even know if he has books, but apparently it’s so bad today they’re trying to keep him away from other people’s scents.”

“Rub some mint leaves on yourself or something,” Dean jokes, although if Ellen’s worried, then it’s not Sam white-knighting himself into overreaction. “Or actually, there’s some other leaves—”

“Dean, I know what poison ivy looks like, and also, screw you.”

Dean shrugs.

“Just checkin’. So, uh, what’s got Ellen so worried?”

“I don’t know. Probably because it’s so bad. And the weird thing is, his last one was only four months ago. I’m pretty sure that would be kind of early if he were _twenty _six, but especially since his first one happened over a year before that, it’s — it’s kind of bizarre. I mean, I’m not a doctor, but — aren’t they supposed to follow some kind of pattern? I don’t think they’re supposed to just — jump that much in frequency and severity.”

Dean has no fucking clue either, but now Sam has him all worried.

“There’s — there’s nothin’ wrong with him, right? I mean — I thought he might be sick, but you guys were just lying about the attack, so — there’s nothing else I should know, right?”

“What? No? Not as far as I know.”

Dean takes a deep breath.

“Okay. Enjoy your book, I think I’m gonna go talk to Ellen.”

“Maybe I should come—”

“Nah, it’s okay, Sammy. I’m sure Cas is fine, I’ll just — go see what’s what. You read.”

Sam narrows his eyes.

“Don’t try to see Cas.”

“Why would I try to see Cas? You just said she didn’t want anyone visiting him today.”

“Yeah, but earlier you — I’m just saying. He’s probably — now’s a bad time.”

Dean just stares.

“Yeah,” he says slowly. “I kinda got that? Which is why I wanna check in with Ellen and make sure he’s good.”

Sam frowns.

“Later, Sammy,” Dean says, and quickly makes his escape before he can get some inscrutable lecture from Sam, who, now that Dean thinks about it, just had the nerve to get all alpha at Dean about visiting. Stupid crush on Cas or not, the kid needs to cool it a little if he doesn’t want Dad breathing down his neck twenty-four-seven.

But then, he needs to cool it, period, and Dean will deal with _that _ problem once he’s made sure Cas isn’t actually dying or anything. He’s never _heard _of anyone dying from a heat, but what the hell does he know?

He hovers outside the infirmary for some reason, even though it should be fine to just go in and head to Ellen’s study. If she’s not there, he can go find her somewhere else. Cas should be shut up in a room, anyway, so Dean doesn’t have to worry about upsetting a sensitive nose with his gross alpha stench.

Still, maybe he should have had a bath before he came over.

Anyway, the point is moot, because Ellen throws open the door, frowning at him.

“What’re you doin’ here?”

“I heard the kid was sick,” Dean says, jerking his head in the direction behind her. “Is, uh, is he gonna be okay?”

“He’ll be fine,” she says shortly. “Run along now.”

“Sam made it sound like it was practically fatal,” Dean protests, and Ellen sighs.

“It ain’t.”

“Okay, and?”

“And what?”

“Sam said it wasn’t supposed to happen again this soon, or be this bad. Are you sure he’s fine?”

“It generally don’t, but everybody’s different. He’s got water and everything else he needs,” she says meaningfully. “So you can go.”

It takes Dean a moment to understand what she’s saying, and he rears back.

“Ew.”

She rolls her eyes.

“Don’t ‘ew’ me, boy. It’s a thing that happens, and if you make him feel bad about it, _you’re _gonna be the one who needs an infirmary room.”

“I won’t,” Dean protests. “I’m just saying!”

“Well, don’t say it where he can hear, and maybe try to be a damn adult about this, Dean. Besides, you’re gonna have to deal with it eventually.”

“Uh. What?”

She just looks at him.

“Heirs, honey.”

And fine, it’s one thing for Ellen to shame him about his reaction to how Cas is probably coping in there, but making him think about the whole heirs thing?

He’s totally justified in the appalled, “_Gross,_” that slips out.

“Uh-huh.” She studies him. “You regret marryin’ him?”

“_What_ ? No, never. If it hadn’t been me, he’d be stuck in stupid Eden, married off to the Duke of Adler or that creepy temple scribe guy. He’s way better off here, where I — where we can protect him. Where he can be a _kid,_” he adds, emphasizing that last word, because he feels like Ellen’s not getting his totally reasonable objections to having any of this floating around in his brain.

She just sighs.

“Mm. But y’know, honey, seven years is a huge difference now, but it won’t always be. And Cas ain’t gonna be a kid that much longer.”

Dean blinks.

“What?”

“You know what.” She stares at him, hard. “Yeah, he’s a kid, now, and that’s why you better go get yourself some dinner and go to bed. But don’t get too used to thinkin’ that way, because it won’t last.”

“Why the hell are we having this conversation? Obviously, he’ll grow up _someday, _but—”

“But you better not try and pretend he’s still a thirteen-year-old when he’s not. I get that you wanna make yourself comfortable, Dean, but it better not be at his expense. Alright?”

“Okay,” Dean says, although he has no fucking clue how they got there or what Ellen is really worried about. To him, it sounds like she’s saying, ‘don’t come sniffing around your child husband right now’ and also, ‘but be ready to do that at some point in the future.’

Which is just bizarre, because Cas is _sixteen. _ They’re not gonna be thinking about the heirs issue for _years. _Hell, they might have as much as another decade before anybody puts their foot down about it, and until then, Cas is a kid.

In fact, Cas’ll probably _always _be a kid to Dean.

So what on earth does Ellen think lecturing him about some inevitable future awkwardness is going to achieve in the present?

He thinks about it all through dinner and all through his bath (hopefully he remembered to wash everything), and by the time he’s lying awake in his bed, candle blown out, he thinks he knows what’s going on here.

There’s two things that have happened in the two days since Dean’s been home:

One, Cas had a hissy fit because Dean called him a kid.

Two, Cas and Sam are caught up in some kind of (admittedly sweet) puppy romance.

Which makes what Ellen was saying make a lot more sense.

At the end of the day, Dean’s married to a child, and as potentially uncomfortable as that is for Dean, it also means he has some guardian-esque responsibilities to that child. And regardless of what they’ll have to check off the old royal to-do list some day, those responsibilities include handling his transition to adulthood the same way he did (or tried to do) for Sam.

Just because Dean’s way older and has a more adult perspective of the situation doesn’t mean things aren’t very intense for Cas. Cas is trying to come into his own, and Dean needs to respect that. He can still look out for him, of course, but he doesn’t have to make Cas feel micromanaged or mistrusted by doing it in an obvious way. He’s gotta let Cas assert himself, test out being a grown-up in a safe environment.

As for the other stuff — Cas’s thing with Sam probably feels very real and serious to him. Ellen’s probably picked up on it and is asking Dean to be sensitive about handling it, given how the heirs issue complicates things. Likewise, the whole heat thing is probably kind of upsetting and alarming, especially since it doesn’t sound like he worked up to this one. Dean _still_ feels weird about hitting rut, about how out-of-control and on edge the hormone dump makes him feel.

As awkward as it is to consider what Cas is going through, Ellen was totally right to call him out; growing up is difficult, Cas needs support from the people he looks up to, and making him feel like there’s something wrong with him just because _Dean’s _uncomfortable is the exact opposite of that.

And the most important thing Ellen told him — Cas’ll grow up fast. If Dean just pretends like it’s not happening, keeps acting like he’s a shrimpy adolescent, he won’t be _able_ to offer Cas the support and guidance that he needs. Dean has to be ready to handle _whatever’s_ coming, so he can see Cas through to the other side safely.

Well, he can do that.

No problem.

Cas feels a lot better in the morning.

Or rather, afternoon, because he struggles to sleep, even after Ellen brews him a special tea to help, and he falls asleep so late he doesn’t wake up until noon.

Jo brings him breakfast, sympathy all over her face.

“Hey, sleepyhead. How you feelin’? Heard it was a doozy.”

“It was,” Cas says dully, reaching for the plate with a grateful look. He’s famished. “But it’s much better now.”

“Oh, good. Sam wanted to bring you some books, but Ellen was worried you wouldn’t wanna be smelling people.”

“That’s probably for the best.” Cas looks down. “It was — I don’t think I would have liked to see anyone yesterday.”

Jo reaches for his hand, squeezing.

“Mom talked to you?”

“Yes.”

“I guess your barrack-mates can stop whispering so much, huh?” she jokes, and Cas just sighs.

“I guess. I don’t know why they want to talk about it at all, but I suppose I should be grateful for their discretion up to this point.”

Stupid heats. Cas just wants to become a knight and spend time with Sam and Dean. He doesn’t want to deal with his body’s absurd instincts, especially not when they make him that uncomfortable, in that particular way, to the point that he can’t even get out of bed, let alone go about his daily routine.

“Well, Bobby had a talk with them all about how different they do things in Eden. He didn’t want anybody making you uncomfortable.”

“Ellen did a fine job of that,” Cas says dryly, and Jo laughs.

“Oh, god, she showed you the chart, didn’t she?”

“Yes,” Cas mumbles, and Jo cringes.

“It’s awful. You look at it and she’s telling you all this stuff about cycles and pregnancy and you just think, _no way.”_

That was precisely what Cas thought.

“Something like that.”

“Yeah. But I think you’ll be okay, when the time comes. Dean’ll take care of you.”

Cas freezes.

“What?”

“I mean — you probably need some time to get used to the idea — it’s a hell of a lot to take in — but your next heat won’t be so bad. Dean’ll help you, and he’ll make sure you’re okay. Alright?”

Jo’s expression is warm, and she clearly means to be reassuring, but — when she says Dean will help him, next time, it makes it sound like —

He clutches the bedspread, shooting her an alarmed look.

“I don’t want to have children yet. Not for a long time. I thought — he already said —”

“Woah, woah, no,” Jo hurries to say, touching his arm. “I meant he’d help you through your _heat, _not knock you up. Mom’ll make sure you both have the right medicine so you don’t have to go through it alone next time.”

Ellen told him what his body wanted during a heat, gave him that stupid thing that’s still sitting in the corner of the room where it hit the ground, and also told him that when the time came to produce heirs, he would need to do the real thing.

She said nothing about Dean coming to see him _next time, _ if they weren’t even having children, and — and now he’s thinking about trying to do what she told him with _Dean, _and his brain promptly goes to static because Cas can’t — he doesn’t —

“Do I have to?”

“What?” She looks surprised. “No, of course not, but — don’t you want him to? It’s way easier if you have somebody to help you through it. It’s over faster and, uh, not to be crass, it’s less work for you.”

Cas shakes his head.

“I don’t want that. I don’t — I don’t want him to _see _me like this. I’m supposed to be his best knight, someday, and if I’m like this —”

Jo snorts.

“Dude, have you ever seen Dean during a rut? He's definitely not one to talk. Mood swings and hysteria for days.”

Ellen explained about ruts, too. Cas supposes Dean must have them regularly — he’ll be twenty-three in January, after all — but he’s never seen one.

Not that anyone probably would have told him why Dean was behaving strangely.

“Does he need someone to help him, too?”

Jo averts her eyes.

“I mean . . . like I said, it makes things easier, so . . . probably?”

Cas feels a flare of anger, like the irritation he felt when he found Pamela outside Dean’s bedchamber multiplied tenfold, and the heat _must _be making him sensitive if he can get this upset about being lied to in a way that really doesn’t affect him.

But it’s probably more than that. Cas feels caught off guard and unprepared, and perhaps a part of him resents that Dean and other people didn’t speak more candidly with him over the years, so that maybe it wouldn’t have come as such a shock.

“I see. Well, I don’t think I need or want any help. I’m much better today. Yesterday was — bad. But it was only one day. I should be fine.”

Jo nods, clearly uncomfortable.

“Yeah, of course. You should, you know, definitely decide. But it’s an option, you know, in case next time is . . . well, worse.”

“It had better not be,” he mutters darkly. “I think I’ll get dressed and come train.”

Jo lights up.

“Awesome. Our group’s coming to spar with yours today, and just so you know, Sam will go easy on you, but I won’t.”

“Sam always goes easy on me,” Cas grumbles. “It’s very inconvenient. It means I have to go easy on him.”

Jo chortles.

“Yeah, he used to do that with me, too. But _I _didn’t go easy on him, and he learned.”

“Why is he like that?”

“Too tenderhearted to really enjoy wailing on his friends?” she muses. “Well, that and you’re his adorable brother-in-law. He probably felt bad.”

“I’m not adorable.”

She pinches his cheek.

“You are.”

“It’s good that you won’t be going easy on me today,” Cas says, as menacing as he can manage, and Jo just darts out of the room, laughing.

Cas hauls himself out of the bed, dressing, and follows.

“Hey, Ellen, how’s Cas doing?”

Ellen pauses as she makes her way across the courtyard.

“Much better today.”

“Yeah? Is he up for visitors?”

She mulls it over.

“Probably. He’s training now, though. We’ll see if the break lasts.”

Dean stares.

“He’s _what_?”

“He’s training. Sparrin’ with Sam’s group.”

“But — but —” Dean sputters. “He’s in _heat_!”

“So? We’re not damned animals, Dean. If he’s well enough to be up and movin’ around, he’s well enough to be trainin’ with everybody like he’s supposed to.” She narrows her eyes. “Like he _wants _to.”

“Yeah, no, but — but what about all the young alphas?”

He swears he sees Ellen roll her eyes, but this is a totally valid concern. Adolescents and especially anyone newly presented struggled to adjust to their heightening sense of smell, and strong scents often overwhelmed them.

And heat scent? Was pretty damn strong. He remembered when Jo had been sparring during one of her heats, and the alpha kid she was fighting was so blindly overcome he dropped to his knees and started scenting and nuzzling her sword hand. Of course, Jo wasn’t expecting him to abruptly quit fighting, and she nearly took the poor kid’s head off.

“They’ll be fine.”

“He could hurt one of them!”

“We don’t have any newly presented, and we’re using the sticks with him in case anybody loses it. Besides, I don’t think . . .” She hesitates.

“You don’t think what?”

“Nevermind. Anyway, you never saw a problem with Jo or Charlie. If I recall, you thought it was _funny._”

Dean blinks.

Did he? Clearly, it’s a serious problem — was he really so cavalier about it?

He thinks about it for a second, and okay, yeah, seeing Jo panic and come to a screeching halt mid-swing _was _kind of hilarious, since nobody actually got hurt. The alpha kid, Andy, hasn’t really ever lived it down.

“Yeah, but Cas is—”

Ellen’s looking at him.

“Cas is what?”

“You know. He’s not — he’s oblivious. There’s, uh. More risk, I think.”

“Uh-huh.”

The way Ellen’s looking at him makes his neck feel warm for some reason.

“But you said you’re using wooden swords, so it should be fine,” he mumbles. “He’ll bitch about it, though. Swear to God the kid is fussier than _Sam._”

“All three of you are fussy brats,” Ellen retorts. “Run along, then. I gotta get back to the field.”

Dean waves her away and heads back to training himself, mostly feeling pretty good since Cas is no longer maybe-dying and Dean can go visit him and be supportive and shit.

And then he realizes Ellen just used the _present _tense, and the smile drops right off his face.

That evening, Dean shows up to the infirmary with a dinner tray.

He feels a little bad; Sam was complaining about how Ellen thought Cas should take dinner in his room for one more night, at least, and he’s probably not going to appreciate Dean leaving him to eat in the hall by himself while Dean goes to see Cas alone.

Still, Dean wants to apologize to Cas about their fight, and he’s pretty sure it will embarrass Cas if Sam’s there for that.

He looks around for Ellen, but she’s probably at dinner, too, so eventually he goes to the only shut sick room and knocks.

“Cas?”

There’s no answer.

“Cas?” he says louder, knocking again. “It’s Dean, I’m comin’ in, okay?”

Dean waits a good fifteen seconds, just in case, and then pushes the door open.

It’s dark in the room, quiet, and if not for the very strong smell permeating the air, Dean would assume it was empty.

He tries to breathe through his mouth. It’s not — gross, really, it’s just — a little intense, despite having that vague, muddled quality characteristic of youth. Still, it’s probably a good thing Sam didn’t come along.

He maneuvers his way to a little desk and sets the tray down, squinting in the darkness at the bed, where now he can hear soft little breaths, steady in rhythm.

Still not dying. That’s good. He is sleeping, though, and Dean hesitates, wondering if he should just leave food and come see him tomorrow.

On the other hand, he’s not sure how long Cas has been napping, and he doesn’t want him to have trouble sleeping through the night.

He searches out the candles, fumbling with the matchsticks beside them until the room is bathed in a soft glow, and then he gently pokes Cas’s shoulder.

“Hey. Cas, buddy. It’s dinnertime.”

There’s no response, so Dean reaches out and flicks his ear, a move that would be sure to have Sam bolting upright and snarling at him forthwith.

Cas just makes a soft noise and turns his face into Dean’s hand, and Dean draws back like he’s been burned.

Yeah, nope. Maybe poking at him’s a bad idea.

Christ, this is above his paygrade.

“Cas,” he says loudly, and puts his hand on the mattress instead, giving it a shake. “Wake up, man.”

Cas rolls over, shifting, and blinks open sleepy blue eyes.

Dean smothers a laugh. His hair’s sticking out in fifty million different directions and he looks exactly like a tiny kitten Sam once brought back to the castle when he was ten.

“Dean?”

“Yeah. How’re you feeling? I brought you dinner.”

Cas struggles to sit upright, rubbing his eyes.

“What time is it?”

“Seven o’ clock. When’d you go to bed?”

“A couple hours ago.”

Cas stretches and yawns, taking a deep breath as he does so — and then freezes.

“Um,” he says, but nothing follows, and Dean turns around, heading for the tray.

“Brought you a little bit of everything, and some honeycakes, although I don’t think Sam oughta be indulging your sick habi-”

“Get out.”

Dean starts, taken aback by the harshness in Cas’s tone and sure he must have misheard.

He turns.

“What?”

Cas has his fists clenched in the sheets, eyes wide and looking everywhere but at Dean.

“Get out. _Get out. _ Leave, I — you need to leave, _right now _ _—_”

“Woah, buddy, are you okay?” Dean walks toward him, taking in the flush in his cheeks and the sheen of sweat that wasn’t there in sleep. “Should I get Ellen? D’you think you’re getting sick? Sometimes heats can make you more suscep—” Dean yelps, dodging just in time. “_J__esus!_”

Cas just threw a fucking _book _ at him. Half a second slower and Dean could have a broken nose _._

“_I said leave!” _ Cas snarls, and fucking _fine, _Dean’ll go.

“Okay! I’m going, I’m going. Dinner’s on the desk,” he snaps, and hurries out, slamming the door behind him.

Which is maybe a little immature, but _come on_, not even _Sam’s _that cranky during a rut.

And even if Cas is already pissed at him over the other day, that’s no excuse to be such a dick about it now, not when Dean was just trying to be helpful. Hell, Dean wanted to _apologize, _not that Cas has any way of knowing that, and — and he brought him honeycakes!

Dean sniffs.

This is what he gets for trying to be a _mature adult. _Ellen might be a doctor, but sometimes she doesn’t know shit.

If Cas thought the first day was bad, it was nothing compared to how he feels once Dean’s left.

Cas thought, the other night, that Dean smelled so nice he wanted to chase him around the hall, and if he had only known better, he would have given strict instructions not to let Dean anywhere _near _him when he was like this.

Because even though Dean’s gone, his scent remains, and it holds a dark, terrible power, something that makes Cas want to fling himself out of the bed and run after Dean and burrow into that scent, even as he wishes there was a way to expel it from the room altogether.

The moment Cas opened his mouth to yawn, taking in a lungful of sunny woods, his body utterly revolted. Whatever calm he’d found today fled like it might never have been there, and all that remained was too much heat and a rapidly worsening ache as the apparently-not-just-morning-situation returned with a vengeance and — and —

And now Cas’s pajamas are wet and his sheets are wet and it’s humiliating and if anything, it’s getting _worse _ now that Dean’s gone, and now he wants Dean to come back and just — just lie next to him and let Cas breathe him in and _why is this happening_?

Is this what Jo meant, when she said Dean would help him next time? Did she know Cas would react this way? Or maybe even that Cas _had _ reacted that way, in the hall the other night? Is it because they’re married? Ellen talked a lot about mating, and said some things about mated pairs, but Dean is his husband, not his mate, and he doesn’t remember her saying that made a difference. But Jo seemed to think Cas would want _Dean’s_ help, specifically, so maybe Ellen just forgot to tell him, and now Cas feels betrayed and weirdly lonely, and as uncomfortable as he is he just wants to curl up and cry like a pathetic child.

Except that’s a lie.

What he really wants is to curl up with _Dean _and cry like a pathetic child.

In light of that, Cas decides the dignity of future knighthood can go ‘fuck itself’ as he’s often heard the Lawrencians say, and he allows himself the first thing.

It makes him feel a little better.

Not much — but a little.

Dean stays away from both the field and the infirmary the next day, because he’s very busy catching up on things he missed out on and dusting his room where the maids may or may not have missed and also not sulking over being sent out of Cas’s sick room via book to the face even though Dean _just _got back three days ago and he would think his most devoted letter-writer would at least be pleased to see the honeycakes.

But hey, whatever. Cas is at that age. It’s no big deal.

Cas is probably better today, anyway, and he’ll see him at dinner.

Dean doesn’t, though; Sam plunks down next to him, side-eyeing him like crazy, and says:

“Cas is _worse _today.”

Dean frowns.

“Ellen told me he was doing way better yesterday. Went out to train and everything.”

“Yeah. But apparently last night things flared up, even worse than the day before, and he’s been stuck in bed all day.” Sam presses his mouth together, eyes angry. “Jo says she thinks he was crying.”

Dean pauses in reaching for a dinner roll, disturbed. Cas takes the whole knight-and-manhood thing pretty damn seriously, and Dean doesn’t think he’s _ever _seen him cry, even when he first came here.

“That — well. Uh. I mean — hormones. I’m not sayin’ _ I’ve _ ever gotten a little teary during a rut, but I’m sure it’s a thing that, uh, happens. To people who aren’t me.”

Sam scowls.

“Did you go see him?”

God, not this again. Sam’s pretty levelheaded, even if he weren’t an alpha, but it looks like Cas is triggering all kinds of bitchy instinct.

“None of your business.”

“Dean, Ellen decided not to let him come to dinner for a reason.”

“Because it _reeks _in here. Nobody ever comes to dinner on the first day of that bullshit.”

“And he shouldn’t have had visitors.”

Dean sits back.

“You mean he shouldn’t have had visitors who aren’t _you,_” he says flatly. Sam is practically waving a giant, colorful flag with “I’m in love with Cas” embroidered on it, and Dad is bound to see it if he keeps it up.

Sam furrows his brow.

“What?”

“Listen, Sammy, I get that you’re — whatever, but I just wanted to check up on him and honestly, talk about something we discussed the other night. Or else I would have brought you.”

“Something you discussed the other night?” Sam is looking at him, deeply suspicious, and then his expression sours even _further. _ “_Dean. _Did you do something?”

“I brought him too many honeycakes, maybe, but it’s nothing _you _haven’t done—”

“_Dean,_” Sam snaps. “This isn’t funny. Obviously, I can’t tell you what to do—”

“Sure isn’t stopping you from trying—”

“But this is the first heat Cas has had like this and — and you can _wait, _okay? I don’t think this is right.”

Dean gapes.

“Ellen said he was doing better! How was I supposed to know he’d throw a goddamn book at me?”

“He threw a— you left, right?” Sam looks _extremely _upset. “Please tell me you didn’t stick around and keep trying to—”

“Of course not! Like it was gonna happen when he was that pissed off.”

“I can’t _believe _you, Dean. This is a big deal for him—”

“Yeah, and I was trying to _help__—_”

“If he doesn’t want your help, you have to respect that—”

“He didn’t even know why I was there before he kicked me out!” Dean snaps. “And for the record, I think he’d have felt a lot better if he’d just let me—”

And then Sam punches him, and all hell breaks loose.

It’s actually been a few years since Dean was in Bobby’s study for any reason other than wanting to be there or needing to talk to him about something, but right now, it might as well have been yesterday. The sensation of being _in trouble, _forced to sit in one of the stupid chairs, bloody-faced and glowering while he waits for his lecture, is depressingly familiar.

“One o’ you idjits wanna explain to me why the hell half the castle was brawlin’ at dinner?” Bobby asks, and Sam has the nerve to look at _Dean_. His nose is a little bloodied, but otherwise unblemished, and it’s pissing Dean off.

“’Cause Sam can’t control himself.”

Sam draws in a breath.

“_I _ can’t control myself? _Me? _You’re the one who—”

Bobby holds up a hand.

“In a way _I _can understand, you idjits.”

Sam straightens up.

“Oh, then I’m glad you asked. Ellen specifically wanted Cas to stay back from dinner, and Dean snuck off to see him anyway, and he tried to — he meant to—”

Dean frowns, watching Sam turn a little red and look at Bobby plaintively.

“I mean — it’s not just me, right? He — that’s not right.”

Bobby opens his mouth, but honestly, he can wait, because Sam is completely out of control if he doesn’t even want people _talking _to Cas.

“Listen, bitch, Cas is my — husband, I guess, and if I want to go visit and have a talk wi—”

“A _talk_!” Sam splutters. “Yeah, I _know _what you talked to him about, and I can’t believe you’d try and take advantage like that when he’s so vulnerable—”

“Oh, come on, Cas is a big boy, Sammy, he can tell me to fuck off if he doesn’t wanna accept my apo—”

“_Can _ he, Dean? What if he _hadn’t_ ? What if it was bad enough he — he let you do something he didn’t want? You can’t undo something like that! And then you’ll both have to live with that for the _rest of your lives_!”

Sam’s eyes are wide and imploring and normally Dean would either feel compelled to just agree with him, if only to make it stop, or resent their unholy power and push back just to prove he can.

Right now, though —

“Uh. What?”

Bobby sighs.

“Sam, I see where you’re comin’ from, and I’ll certainly have a talk with Dean, but you’re both too old to be havin’ tussles like that in public. It looks real bad, and you got the whole rest of everybody fightin’ with each other even though nobody knew what the hell was even happening.”

“Yeah, okay, but — what?”

They both look at him.

“Whaddya mean, what?”

“Sam, what the fuck did you think I went there for?”

Sam goes bright red, but lifts his chin and stares Dean down.

“I don’t think, I _know. _ Dean, the day after you got back, Cas asked me what sex was and told me he needed to show you he knew. Don’t even try to play dumb. And I get what you were saying, and yeah, he has grown up a lot since you left, a lot of his barrack-mates think he’s cute, but he hasn’t grown up _that _ much and he’s still _Cas _and I think you could stand to show some sensitivity here.”

Dean blinks.

And then he kind of really, really wants to melt into the chair and cease to exist.

“Oh, my _God,_” he mutters. “That fuckin’ _brat._”

Bobby presses a tired hand to his face.

“Aw, hell. Sam threw the first punch, didn’t he?”

“_Yes,_” Dean agrees, emphatic. “Yes, he did, because he’s a dumbass and Cas should learn to either keep his damn mouth shut or tell the whole story.”

Now Sam looks confused.

“Huh?”

“For your information, Cas told me about the stupid-ass reason he got that scar, and then he told me what Bobby told him about the whole heirs issue, and _then _ he told me he didn’t want heirs right now. And I _agreed, _ and pointed out that he was way too young, but because teenagers are crazy, instead of being relieved_, _he had a giant hissy fit where he actually tried to say he was a man now.”

“But what does that have to do with—”

“And I pointed out that he probably didn’t even _know _how heirs were made, which, obviously he didn’t, so I reiterated that he’s still a kid and still too young for pretty much everything.”

Sam sinks back into his chair.

“So when he asked _me_ _—_”

“He was trying to prove a point.” Dean pauses, then gives Sam a very serious look. “Sammy. Do _you _know how heirs are—”

“Shut up, Dean.”

Dean just smirks at him, although he caused a huge fucking dustup over _nothing._

“But why did you go see him, then?”

“Uh, because I was worried about him? And anyway, Ellen had a talk with me about how he’s not gonna be a kid forever, and I realized she was right. Cas is growin’ up, and he needs me to support him and encourage him, not treat him like a baby.”

Bobby’s face takes on a really weird look at that, but Dean wants to make sure Sam understands what’s happening before he starts getting punchy again.

“So I went to _apologize, _and tell Cas I’m proud of how much progress he made since I left. But I was in the room for all of two minutes before he’s throwing shit at me and yelling at me to leave.”

Dean tries not to pout, because he’s an adult and he’s better than that.

Sam is positively _cringing, _though, which goes a long way to soothing Dean’s ire.

“Shit.”

“Yeah, shit.” Dean clears his throat, because now that _that’s _ cleared up, they better address the real reason any of this happened in the first place. Thank God Bobby’s here to help. “Listen, Sam. I get that you’ve got, uh, some — some _ feelings, _but you can’t go around trying to defend his honor and shit.”

Sam blinks.

“Feelings?”

“Yeah. And you certainly can’t defend his honor against _me. _ I’m — he and I are _married. _Do you know how that looks?”

“Um—”

“And honestly, Sammy? That’s really what it boils down to. I was eighteen and hotheaded and shit once—”

Bobby snorts.

“So I know how it is. It probably feels like, woah, this is _it. _But it’s not. And it can’t be. And Dad was right to try and stop it before it started.”

Sam stares at him.

“Dean, what the hell are you trying to say to me right now?”

Dean sighs. He’s trying to let Sam down gently, here, but he’s being surprisingly obtuse.

“I’m saying that maybe in another universe, Cas presented later and Michael ended up marrying him to you instead. Or maybe he was born in Lawrence and you met at a ball, Cinderella style. But we live in this one, and as much as I want you to be happy . . .” Dean shakes his head. “You can’t be happy with Cas. Not now and not ever, and it’ll be easier for you both if you accept it sooner rather than later. I’m sorry.”

There’s a long silence, Sam’s mouth opening and closing, brows jumping through a series of impressive acrobatics as he apparently tries to cope with this devastating news.

“You goddamn _idjit_,” Bobby mutters, and stands. “Alright, as entertaining as this ridiculous circus _ain’t, _enough’s enough. Sam, Dean is still pretending he’s forty and y’all are his fragile little wards. Dean, Sam ain’t in love with your husband and if Cas has got feelings for anything besides his books and his training, it ain’t Sam.”

“Huh? But — Bobby, they were holding hands!”

“Holding h— Dean, you think _holding hands _ means we’re in love? Maybe someone needs to give _you _the talk.”

Dean opens his mouth.

“Get outta my office,” Bobby says tiredly, and reluctantly, Dean and Sam stand and walk out the door, Bobby trailing after them. “And if anybody asks what you were fightin’ over, Sam tried to stop you from eatin’ bacon and you told him his salad was dumb.”

“What the hell? Who would believe _that_?”

Bobby rolls his eyes.

“Everyone,” he says, and shuts the door in their faces.

He and Sam declare an awkward truce, made so by the fact that they’re both kind of idiots, just like Bobby said, and Dean goes to bed uncertain whether to be relieved that Sam isn’t spoiling for heartbreak, or upse— that is, mildly curious — about Cas aggressively banishing him from the sick room.

It doesn’t help that Cas’s heat doesn’t break for another three days, although for the last two, he’s able to go out and train. Dean doesn’t go see him, though; Ellen won’t even let him on the training field to supervise, even though Dean wants to start their evening sessions again and he’d like to know where Cas is at.

Honestly, it stings a little. Logically, he gets that Cas is used to his barrack-mates and they’re unlikely to piss him off as much as Dean apparently did, but — before he left for the border, the two of them got along just fine (for the most part).

Yet now he’s not even allowed to go near Cas, because Ellen is _that _worried Dean’ll do or say something to upset him, and — yeah, Dean doesn’t even wanna know what Cas told her to make her think that.

On the other hand, Dean managed to do just that on his first night back home, so maybe she’s right to be worried.

Finally, though, Cas gets the all clear, and on the fifth night since he threw Dean out, Cas slips into his usual seat next to Dean.

Dean’s happy to see him, squeezes his shoulder and tries a smile, although a part of him is afraid Cas will just snap at him again.

“Hey, buddy. How’re you doin’?”

“Fine,” Cas mumbles, very subtly shaking Dean’s hand off, and something goes a little cold in Dean’s stomach.

“Oh. Okay, cool.”

Dean fixes a plate for him, Cas watching with dull eyes, and he’s not sure if the lack of complaint is a good sign or a bad sign.

Dinner is quiet, strained, and Dean’s feeling more and more anxious by the minute.

He’s _home. _ He’s finally _home, _after eighteen months of tedious, utter bullshit, and he doesn’t want to have come this far just to have things be weird between him and a part of his family.

And sure, he could just avoid Cas, but — Dean got letters from him every two weeks, sometimes more, because Cas didn’t always wait for Dean’s responses before he sent more letters, and — they’re friends, aren’t they? And even if he’s not used to _actually _ spending time with him, Cas is kind of just — a part of things now. Truth to be told, he’ll kind of _miss _Cas, if things get weird and they’re suddenly not talking at all.

Dean mumbles a quick goodnight and starts off toward his chambers, only to find Cas trailing after him by the time he reaches the stairs. He lifts a questioning brow, though there’s a little spark of hope at this, like maybe Cas was just worn out from what sounds like the heat from hell, but he’s ready to talk to Dean.

“I wanted to talk to you,” Cas says quietly, gaze sliding away from Dean’s, and Dean frowns.

“Okay. About what?”

Cas hesitates.

“About what we talked about last time.”

“Oh.” Dean coughs. “Okay. I wanted to talk to you about that, too.”

For a split second, he thinks Cas looks frightened, but then Cas is nodding calmly.

“Okay, Dean.”

They make it to Dean’s room, and once the door is shut, Cas takes a deep breath, turning to him.

“Can I go first?” Dean blurts out, and maybe he should wait, see what Cas has to say, but he feels like the apology is important.

Cas hesitates, then nods.

“Okay.”

“Cool. Uh, thanks. So — so I’ve been thinking, and I, uh, I wanted to say I was sorry.”

“Sorry?” Cas looks surprised. “For what?”

“What I said. The night I got back. I was — tired. And honestly — you kind of scared me, with the — the kidnapping thing. I should have—” _been there to protect you, _Dean almost says, but part of not treating Cas like a child is not mentioning that it’s Dean’s job to look after him. “Well, anyway. I was out of line, and I didn’t mean what I said. You’re not a little kid. You’ve — you made real good progress, since I left. Grew up a lot. I should respect that.”

Cas blinks, staring at him for a long moment, before he suddenly lowers his eyes and slowly shakes his head.

“No,” he says, surprising Dean. “No, I think — you were right. I was — I _am _a child. I was being foolish, and — and vain. There was — _is_ — a lot I don’t understand.”

“You’re learning,” Dean offers, and Cas just looks pained.

“Yes. I am. But I have far to go, and you were right. I’m —” Cas swallows. “I’m too young. For all the things you said.”

Dean tries not to be visibly relieved. It’s good that Cas understands that, but he’s not stupid enough to think the horrible time he had this last week isn’t a major factor here, and for that, he’s sorry.

“Well, maybe not all the things,” he points out, keeping his tone light. “I think I mentioned something about extra training, there. I was definitely wrong about that.”

Cas brightens, and then, bizarrely, his face falls.

“I — actually, I — Bobby’s a very good teacher, as you said. Perhaps we should forgo additional training, unless I need it.”

Which — what? Is Cas seriously turning down extra training?

“Uh. I mostly said that to be a dick. Are you sure?”

Cas nods firmly.

“Yes, I’m sure.” He shuffles back, gaze flicking to Dean’s and then away so quickly Dean might have imagined the contact in the first place. “Good night, Dean.”

And then he hurries out the door, shutting it behind him and leaving Dean with an acute sense of dread.

Things aren’t going to be like they were before he left for the border. They’re not even going to be like how they felt in all the letters they exchanged.

Dean has no idea _what _they’re going to be like, and now —

He’s kind of afraid to find out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * SPOILERS *
> 
> Almost Dean/other:  
Scene 1: Dean and Pamela are good friends and have often hooked up non-romantically; during the celebration, they flirt and make plans to spend the night together.  
Scene 2: Dean and Pamela make their way up to Dean’s room, where Cas is waiting. Dean makes up an excuse about needing to escort Pamela to her chamber. Cas points out that she bested three opponents blindfolded last week and declares his intention to stay in Dean’s room that night. Dean walks Pamela to her room, and she cryptically reminds him that Cas is his husband, not just his friend, and to be careful, because kids can be fragile. Dean is confused but dismisses it.
> 
> Discussions of sex/heats: Cas experiences his first serious heat in this chapter. Ellen gives him the comprehensive talk Anna and Bobby wouldn’t. It’s a lot for Cas to wrap his head around, and is not a positive experience for him; he experiences anxiety about what he and Dean will be expected to do in the future.


	4. Part IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: Dean/other (beginning and end of that part of the scene marked by **, detailed explanation in the end notes); OFC (Valencia was developed prior to my posting fic but could not be easily edited out of this one; I picture Gal Gadot for her, if that helps). Please let me know if I’ve missed anything.

Cas is getting very lonely.

He doesn’t really understand it; there should be no difference between not seeing Dean at all and simply avoiding him, but there _is. _Cas has no letters to look forward to, now, and having to sit next to Dean at dinner and glimpse him around the castle somehow makes him even more conscious of the fact that they’re really not talking.

And he shouldn’t be lonely, either way, because he’s surrounded by his barrack-mates all day and then Sam sits with him under the tree and talks to him at dinner, but it would appear that people are not interchangeable. Cas should have known that, given how much he misses his sister sometimes, but he never really thought about it in those terms.

Cas would like to spend time with Dean. Cas did, in fact, wait eighteen months to spend time with Dean. And Dean is _right there, _the way he’d looked forward to for so long, and yet — Cas is afraid of him.

He feels his feather stone like a heavy weight around his neck, and when Dean comes to watch their practice, Cas falters at the sight of him, sword flying to the side as Meg disarms him.

He’s ashamed to say he fights twice as hard after that, acutely aware of Dean’s eyes on him and disturbingly eager to impress, and he wins the next few rounds with such total victory his barrack-mates have fallen into a sort of awed silence. Alfie’s hands are up, eyes wide as he looks up at Cas and chin angled away from the tip of Cas’s sword, and Cas quickly steps back.

“Well done, boy,” Bobby says gruffly, but there’s a terrible, knowing sort of look in his eye that has Cas flushing and turning away.

Of course he wants to show off for Dean. The whole point of training so hard is to be the best knight in Dean’s army, someday; to fight and _win _against Dean, even. It’s perfectly normal to want to prove Dean didn’t make a mistake in letting Cas do this.

Still, he can’t bring himself to look at Dean again, and he’s relieved that it’s his turn to hide on the sidelines, evaluating the matches between his peers.

Dean wanders away soon after, and Cas tries not to wonder if he came to check on Cas, specifically.

It’s December now, and Cas can’t remember the last time he and Dean exchanged more than pleasantries or brief questions. Initially, Dean tried to coax him into extra training a couple more times, or fixed his plate at dinner, or sat out by the tree with them and tried to draw Cas away from his book; but Cas firmly declined additional training, began showing up to dinner earlier to prepare his own plate, and pretended to be too absorbed in his book to even hear Dean half the time he tried to talk.

Dean doesn’t try anymore.

Cas misses him a lot.

But he’s also conscious of the fact that Dean smells very nice, and Jo seems to think the bedroom things will be happening during Cas’s next heat, and — and it’s _absurd, _but a part of Cas is both suspicious that Dean made his heat _worse _— that he might even have _caused _it, though Ellen never indicated anything about that — and afraid that being around him will make Cas behave strangely again, might bring about that dreaded occasion sooner than if Cas just keeps his head down and stays away from Dean.

Because Cas doesn’t want to have another heat, and he doesn’t want Dean to be there for it. Cas actually_ hid under the covers _ and _cried, _ last time, and after Dean came to see him, he was a sweaty, fevered mess_. _ Not knight material at all_. _ He’s terrified Dean will see him that way and think he’s pathetic, will decide Cas isn’t fit for knighthood, and in addition to that, he — he might — he’ll probably think Cas is _gross._

Cas certainly _felt_ gross. He can’t imagine Dean, a third party, will have any higher opinion of the sorry sight he presented.

And that’s the _other _ thing. Cas might not have been too concerned had Jo told him Dean would help him out before he knew what that _meant, _would probably have just considered it to be exactly the sort of heroic, generous thing Dean would do, but now?

Every time the thought drifts back toward him, Cas shoves it away. He could _never. _ He doesn’t want Dean to see him in such a humiliating state, and he certainly doesn’t want to prevail upon him to do something that sounds so terribly uncomfortable. Jo said it would be a lot less work for Cas, which means it will be a _burden _on Dean, which is the last thing a future knight should be on their prince.

Everything about the situation is deeply problematic, and the only solution Cas can come up with is to avoid the source of all of it.

And yet — he’s lonely.

He’s so lonely that his memories of fear and discomfort are falling by the wayside, replaced by a longing for the days when he could cherish every new letter from Dean; for the days before Dean left, even, when they trained hard in the courtyard and then walked into dinner together, chatting about nothing. He thinks of Dean letting him sleep in his room when he was sick and drying his hair for him, of Dean assembling all his favorite foods at dinner, of Dean ruffling his hair and squeezing his shoulder, laughing at his awkward jokes and listening to him ramble on about his books. Of how even though Dean was probably going to do the fun, non-obligatory bedroom things with Pamela, he let Cas stay and catch up instead.

Of how Dean let him be a knight, helped _train _him for it, way back when Cas thought he was losing everything.

The more days that pass, just that little bit empty and tense, the more things like scents and heats and serving one’s prince seem irrelevant in the face of not having his friend.

But even if _Cas _ feels that way, Dean may not care at all. Cas thinks he must, since he watches Cas at training and sometimes during dinner, brow pinched in a way Cas hates, but maybe that’s just Dean ‘supervising the realm’ like Sam jokes he does. Maybe he might even be angry at Cas. The more Cas thinks about it, the more he realizes how _good _Dean has been to him since arriving here, how he’s played a not insignificant role in making Cas happy, and Cas’s behavior since he came home must seem terribly ungrateful.

Cas _is _grateful, though. He’s so grateful he didn’t want to mess things up, for either one of them, but he seems to have done it anyway.

“Sam,” Cas finally asks, a couple of weeks before Christmas. “I — if — if one had — some awkwardness, in a friendship, that they wished to overcome — what should they do?”

Sam pauses, then sets his book down.

“What kind of awkwardness?” he asks carefully.

Cas shrugs.

“I don’t know. Um — distance? And — maybe the friend is angry?”

Sam hesitates, then sighs.

“I don’t think Dean is angry at you.”

Cas flinches, though he supposes it must have been obvious what he was talking about. Sam _is _very clever.

“Are you sure?”

“No. But I think his feelings might be hurt.”

Cas deflates.

“You do?”

“Yeah. You guys were friends and now you’re kinda ignoring him. Even more, you’re part of the family, and you’re not — I don’t know, letting him take care of you at all. Which, trust me, I get how _annoying_ that can be — like, we’re not five — but it’s how he is, and you kinda have to let him do the little things sometimes.”

Cas’s face burns with shame. He likes that Dean takes care of people; before he came here, the only person who ever did that for him was Anna.

Although, he thinks it’s maybe a little hypocritical of Sam to call it annoying, when he is almost certainly guilty of the same. Cas doesn’t point this out, though. He learned from Michael that people don’t appreciate that kind of thing.

“I didn’t mean to. I just —” he cuts off, unsure how to explain.

Sam touches his arm.

“You were — afraid, weren’t you? When, um, when your heat was that bad, and Ellen explained everything.”

Cas nods, relieved.

“Yes. I don’t want to have another heat that bad, and I know it isn’t Dean’s fault, but it was _worse _ after he came to see me. And Jo said Dean would help me, next time, but I don’t want him to. I — you didn’t see, Sam, I was — it was awful, and I don’t think anyone who saw me like that would want me defending the castle _gate_ let alone fighting in their army.”

Sam looks surprised.

“Wait, what? You were afraid Dean would _judge _you?”

Among other things, but —

“How could he not?”

Sam shakes his head, looking upset.

“No — Cas, Dean knows how these things work. Tons of people in his army have them.”

“But that’s different than _seeing _it.” Cas pauses, suddenly uncomfortable. “Has he?”

Sam reddens.

“Um. I don’t know? But that’s not important. The important thing is that Dean would _never _think any less of you for that. I mean, he has a rut_, _and while it’s probably not as bad, it’s still no picnic — for him or anyone who has to deal with him. Trust me, he’s in no position to judge.”

Ellen explained about ruts, but Cas mostly disregarded that, preoccupied with his own pressing tragedies.

It certainly didn’t occur to him that _Dean _had to deal with such a thing, but of course he must.

“Does someone help him?” Cas finds himself asking, although he’s not totally sure how it’s relevant.

Although it is; if Dean is strong enough to refuse assistance, then never mind embarrassment or fear, Cas will certainly not make himself appear weak by accepting help, either. If he hopes to match Dean’s prowess in combat someday, he must match him in endurance and self-control, as well.

Sam gets a distinctly uncomfortable look, and Cas takes a moment to just be very fond of him. Sam’s discomfort is so quintessentially _Sam _that seeing it warms Cas’s heart, because no one else looks uncomfortable quite the way Sam does.

(He feels a little guilty about the thought, but it is what it is.)

“Well,” Sam starts, disrupting Cas’s pleasant thought. “Well, um. He’s been away for a while, so I don’t know.”

This makes sense, but—

“What about before that?”

Sam winces.

“I mean. I — yes? But — but that’s kind of a good thing, isn’t it? It would suck if, um, if there were — expectations? That — made you uncomfortable?”

Sam is being incredibly inarticulate for Sam. This should amuse Cas, if only privately, but —

Cas is really not amused.

“Oh. Yes. It would.”

Sam makes an excellent point, because Cas doesn’t want to do bedroom things with Dean, even if in this scenario, he wouldn’t have to worry about some of those other things. And although normally, Cas would be absolutely delighted by the opportunity to make himself useful to Dean, Sam is certainly correct that doing bedroom things, especially in the context of how Ellen explained ruts and heats, _would_ make Cas very uncomfortable.

And yet.

And _yet._

Cas is not amused.

“Does that — bother you?” Sam asks, at once distraught and curious, and Cas blinks.

“No,” he lies. “Why would it?” Which is a very good question, one Cas will have to think about and answer later, without an audience.

Sam’s brows go up.

“Uh. Well — you know.”

“No? I don’t?”

“Well, I mean — if you — if you, um. If you liked Dean. And since you’re — you know, married? Not that I’m saying it _should,_” he hastens to add. “In fact, it’s probably better if — well. Anyway. Yeah.”

Cas tilts his head.

“Of course I like Dean. I don’t know what that has to do with anything.”

Sam looks startled, then wrinkles his nose.

“Oh — no, I meant — not like, like friends like, but like — love?”

It takes Cas a little bit to untangle this sentence, and when he does, he hesitates to answer.

Does Cas love Dean? He certainly likes him, very much — hence the problem with not being able to spend time with him — but he’s not sure he _loves _him. Not like he loves Sam, and Anna. Cas supposes it’s because he spends so much time with Sam that he's developed that love for him, although they didn’t grow up together. Sam feels like a cherished brother in a way that none of Cas’s actual brothers ever have.

Dean, though . . . Dean does feel like family — after all, he _is _family, since they’re married — but he doesn’t feel like a brother yet. As much affection as Cas has for him, to the point that he felt fit to burst with it sometimes after receiving a letter, Cas doesn’t feel the same way about him as he does the other people he loves. It’s close, he thinks.

But it’s still not the same.

“No. No, I — I like Dean a lot, but I don’t love him. Not like I love you,” he adds, absentminded as he puzzles over this, and Sam freezes.

“Uh. Um. What?”

Cas frowns at the dirt.

“You’re like a brother to me. Or maybe a sister, since I don’t care for my brothers very much. But as much as I like Dean, it’s — it’s different. It’s probably because I don’t spend as much time with him.”

Sam is silent for a long time, expression pinching in an amusingly strange way. Cas waits patiently for the input that is sure to follow.

Eventually, Sam sort of relaxes and sighs, clapping a hand on Cas’s shoulder.

“You know what? I think, um, I think you’re right. Dean’s ruts, your heats — don’t worry about them. Dean probably shouldn’t help you with the next one. Although — don’t ever think he’s going to judge you for something, okay? All of that is, you know. Normal. You shouldn’t — whether Dean’s there or not, you shouldn’t be embarrassed, or feel bad about yourself. And definitely, if anything makes you uncomfortable, you don’t have to do it.”

Cas vaguely recalls Ellen saying something similar, though he was still convinced at the time that something _must _be wrong with him.

Ellen is a doctor, though, and as reassuring as it is to hear there’s nothing _medically _wrong with him, there’s something particularly nice about hearing this from a friend and peer.

Cas leans into the hand on his shoulder, offering Sam a small smile.

“Thank you, Sam.”

Sam smiles back.

“Sure.”

“Then . . . how do I repair things? With Dean?”

He looks thoughtful.

“Um. I think he’s probably ready for them to be repaired, even if he’s snippy with you for a little while, so — honestly? Just — say you’re sorry. Tell him you were dealing with some things. And let him know you miss your friendship.”

“What if _he_ doesn’t?”

“He does,” Sam assures him cheerfully. “And if he knows you do, too? You guys should be just fine.”

Sam makes it sound easy, but he knows Dean best of anyone, so perhaps it is.

All Cas can do is try.

“Don’t be a dick,” Sam says, cryptic as fuck, and then moseys past him into the hall for dinner.

Dean has no idea what that means, so he ignores it, wandering into the hall and scanning the table for tonight’s menu.

Which, hell _yeah. _ There’s that sinful bacon potato casserole thing Ellen won’t let the kitchen make more than once a month, and Dean is pretty sure he sees several pies across the tables. He can’t tell what _kind _they are, but they’re pie, and that’s what’s important.

His good mood dampens a little, as it tends to do lately, when he sees Cas. John eats in his chambers most of the time, and Dean’s starting to wonder if he should tell Cas he can eat with his barrack-mates instead of having to sit next to Dean every night when he clearly doesn’t want to.

Of course, _Sam _is at that end of the table, too, so maybe that’s enough of a draw to make it worth it, anyway.

He’s surprised to find Cas sitting still, plate empty.

“You sick?” he asks, before he can stop himself. He’s been trying to give Cas whatever space he needs; Dean’s an idiot about some things, but even he sometimes suspects this has something to do with the hellish heat Cas had at the end of October. That doesn’t really add up, though. He and Cas agreed the heirs thing wouldn’t be happening for years, so even if Cas was kind of bummed to learn about the birds and the bees, it shouldn’t have anything to do with Dean.

Of course, that whole mess coincided almost exactly with Dean’s arrival home, so the real issue may be that Cas just — doesn’t like having him back. Dean thinks he’s pretty hands-off about the husband thing, forgets they’re married most of the time, but Cas is getting older and he might be resenting Dean’s constant presence and whatever imagined pressures it represents.

Either way, it fucking sucks. Dean would have been perfectly happy to tuck the kid away and forget about him for the next decade, but Cas insisted on attaching himself to Dean from day one, and now Dean’s pretty fond of him and he’s _used _to that, and it feels shitty and unfair that things are changing.

“Oh — Dean—” Cas startles, twisting in his chair a little and watching Dean take a seat, which is new. Cas used to stare at Dean all the time when he was actually here, probably collecting observations to help further his knight aspirations, but over the last couple months he hasn’t really looked at Dean unless he has to.

Dean looks pointedly at his empty plate.

“Why aren’t you eating?”

Cas hesitates, searching Dean’s face.

“I was waiting for you.”

There’s about fifty sarcastic responses on the tip of his tongue, most of them basically amounting to ‘well, _that’s_ certainly a change,’ but Dean is the _adult _here, damn it, and he’s going to act like one.

“Okay, well. Here I am. Eat.”

He ignores the itchy sensation he gets, side-eyeing that empty plate, because Cas has made it clear he can get his own damn food and he doesn’t appreciate Dean doing it for him.

Which makes sense — in fact, now that Cas is quite a bit older than when he came here, Dean’s not sure _why _he feels the need to do things like that — but it doesn’t change the fact that it is mildly painful to just ignore the impulse.

“I can’t reach the casserole,” Cas says after a moment.

And that’s kind of true, assuming teenagers care about being rude, because he’d have to reach across the table quite a bit — but the real question is why he didn’t just do it before Dean sat down.

Dean scoops up Cas’s plate before he can talk himself out of it, dumping a significant helping of casserole on it and studiously avoiding Cas’s gaze. Since he has it anyway, he puts a proportionate amount of green beans and carrots to the side, although he’s probably not going to inflict the same tyranny on himself, and then tosses a dinner roll and a couple pieces of chicken on there for good measure.

He’ll get them both some pie afterward, and if Cas has a problem with it, he can fucking assert himself, like the grown-up he seems to think he is, regardless of what he said when they talked that one night.

Surprisingly, Cas doesn’t say a word. In fact, when Dean gives in and meets his eyes as he puts the plate back down, Cas is giving him this soft, vaguely hopeful look, mouth upturned slightly.

“Thank you, Dean.”

Dean turns back to his own plate, disturbed.

Is this — is this like, a teenager thing? Sammy could be a total bitch one day and Dean’s adorable, happy kid brother the next, so maybe this is just Cas having adolescent mood swings.

But do mood swings last two whole months?

More importantly, does Dean care, if this means it’s over? Home is considerably less home-y when one of your family members is clearly uncomfortable with you, and if Cas is done being whatever-it-is-he’s-being, then maybe Dean shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth.

“How was training?” he asks, casually serving himself while he braces for some short, non-committal response.

“It was good,” Cas says quickly, and Dean can feel him looking at him. “It usually is.”

“Makes sense. You, uh, you look real good, when I check in.”

Cas finally looks down, and when Dean glances over, his cheeks are a little red.

“I could be better,” he says eventually, and Dean shrugs.

“You’re the best in your rank.”

“But I could be better,” he insists.

“Everyone could.” Dean’s not really sure what he’s looking for, but Cas is quiet after that.

Sam finally sits down after they’ve probably been there for like, ten minutes, which is bizarre considering Dean met him on his way in, but whatever. Dinner’s not half so uncomfortable as it has been, and for that, Dean is grateful.

He's getting up to head to his room when he realizes Cas is following him.

“Uh. What’s up, Cas?”

“I was hoping to talk to you? If you have time?”

“Uh, sure.”

Cas is content to wait until they make it to Dean’s chamber and the door is shut behind him before he starts.

“I wanted to apologize,” he says, and Dean jerks his head up in surprise.

“Apologize for w—”

“I’m sorry I — I haven’t been a good friend recently. I was —” Cas hesitates, pensive, then lifts his chin. “Dealing with some things. But I miss our friendship.”

Dean swallows. That was . . . well, straightforward, even for Cas.

“Okay. What now?” he asks, because as eager as he is to put the weirdness behind them, he’s been super . . . _uncomfortable, _ and when Dean gets . . . _uncomfortable, _he can’t help but be a little petty.

Cas deflates a little.

“I — do you forgive me?”

_Cas is a kid, Cas is a kid, _ Dean reminds himself. He deserves forgiveness, even if he’s been a dick, and especially because he’s giving Dean this sad, big-eyed look, and _okay, fine._

“Yeah.” Dean steps forward a little, ruffles his hair, either as proof or maybe a test that Cas has finally chilled out, and Cas’s head just sort of follows Dean’s hand as it moves, shoulders relaxing.

“Okay. Will you — if you have time, can we train in the evenings again?”

Dean cracks a smile.

“Oh, I see. The apology was a bribe. You wanted something, huh?”

Cas looks horrified, head jerking out of Dean’s grasp.

“No! Not at _all, _we don’t have to train—”

“Relax, buddy, I’m just teasing you,” he says, although he wasn’t totally kidding, and it’s a relief to know this isn’t some kind of mercenary exploit on Cas’s part.

And then, for whatever reason, Dean just sort of automatically tugs Cas forward and hugs him.

(Well, this _is _the friendly equivalent of kiss-and-make-up, isn’t it? He’s pretty sure a hug is in order.)

Cas goes stiff for a moment, and if he’s about to suggest he’s too old for hugs, then Dean has some opinions on that — but then he sort of relaxes against Dean, pushing up on his toes to more comfortably tuck his chin over his shoulder as he returns the hug.

It’s nice. It’s a little startling, because Cas is several inches taller and a lot more solid as he leans against Dean than he was last time they hugged, but it’s still nice.

He smells pretty good, too — there’s only a faint layer of training grime to it. Maybe he’s finally grown out of his bath allergy. Or maybe his barrack-mates lodged a formal complaint.

Dean smirks at that, starting to step back and comment, but Cas’s grip on his tunic tightens, and he shows no sign of being ready to move.

Which — he did say he missed their friendship. And Dean was gone a year-and-a-half, before that, so maybe he’s just really hard up for a cuddle?

Although, they only hugged a handful of times before the absence, and if anything, Dean would assume Sam would be acting as resident snuggle-tap in his absence, given what good friends they apparently are.

After a long moment, silent but for their breathing, Dean starts to feel _really _awkward. It’s not that the hug is bad, and Dean can admit to himself that he kind of likes hugs, in general, but he’s also very conscious that it’s lasting way longer than it should be.

“Uh,” he starts, gently patting Cas’s back. “Cas?”

It feels like all Dean does is blink and suddenly Cas is halfway across the room.

“Sorry,” he says, face red. “I just — I — I’m tired.”

“Oh.” Yeah, it’s getting pretty late. Cas should probably head back.

Although, it’s dark and cold out, and Dean doesn’t love the idea of Cas making his way back to the barracks by himself.

“Alright, well, good n—”

“You should probably sleep here,” Dean says decisively, and Cas blinks at him. “It’s kinda late to be walking back.”

Cas tilts his head.

“Does the hour make a difference?”

“Well, yeah. Nobody’ll be around. If something happens, you’re out of luck.”

“What . . . what could happen?”

Dean frowns.

“You know. Anything. Like, what if you slipped and fell and ended up freezing to death before anyone found you?”

Cas presses his lips together, eyes narrowing.

“I don’t slip.”

“It’s dark.”

“Still, I d—” Cas cuts off abruptly, and then looks down. “Well. Alright. If you think that’s best.”

Dean nearly breathes a sigh of relief. At least the kid’s getting more reasonable as he gets older.

“Yeah, I think so.” He pauses. “Should I send for a bath?”

Cas tenses, giving himself a cursory sniff and scowling.

“I’m _fine._”

Yeah, so _that _was wishful thinking.

“Listen, if _I _need one, I’m pretty sure you do, too.”

“I can take it in the morning.”

“Going to bed dirty means the sheets have to be washed more often. That’s a little rude to the laundry, don’t you think?”

Cas glowers (and fortunately doesn’t point out that sending for baths generates work, too).

“Maybe I should go back to the barracks.”

“Are you seriously trying to tell me nobody there complains?”

“_No. _ And I asked Sam about it, and he said you’re _particularly _ fussy about such things, so I believe it’s just _you._”

Now that’s a load of bull.

“Fine, if you wanna go back to the barracks then —” Dean starts, possibly forgetting that he’s the one who tried to convince Cas to stay in the first place, and Cas hunches over.

“You know. I’m — I’m fairly certain that, as my husband, you’re not supposed to care how I smell.”

Dean arches a brow.

“Really?”

Cas’s face is a little red, and Dean _knows _he knows he’s full of it.

“Yes.”

“Uh-huh. Well, I’m probably not supposed to order honeycakes up with a bath either.”

Cas’s mouth falls open.

“You didn’t tell me that was part of the deal.”

“Because I shouldn’t have to make a _deal _with you to get you to bathe.”

Cas crosses his arms with one of the bitchiest expressions Dean’s ever _seen_.

“You’re being offensive. You make it sound like I never bathe. I had a bath _last night._”

“And then you spent like, eight hours sweating on the training field.”

“I — you can’t possibly expect me to bathe every night.”

“If I’m going to be sleeping next to you, I can,” he shoots back, and Cas blinks.

“What?”

“Tonight,” Dean hurries to add, even though it should be obvious, shouldn’t it? Even when Cas is twenty-five — or maybe thirty, for good measure — and they have to do the heirs thing, they won’t be sharing a bed all the time. “I mean — tonight.”

“Oh.” Cas frowns at the wall for a moment, then sighs. “I will bathe tonight. But I want at least three cakes and I refuse to abide by your unreasonable demands once I’ve returned to the barracks.”

He sounds _so _stern, Dean nearly giggles, but he manages to keep a straight face.

“Done. I’ll be right back.” He hurries out the door before Cas can catch him smirking to himself.

Dean comes back once he’s arranged the baths and honeycakes, and he drops into the other chair at the little table, across from Cas, who has of course picked up one of the books from Dean’s shelves and is engrossed in thumbing through it.

His hair’s getting a little long, swooping over his brow where his head is tilted forward. He should probably get it cut, but that’s certainly not Dean’s job, and anyway, it’s a little adorable.

Unlike that _monstrosity _Sam is growing.

“Whatcha got there?” he asks, and Cas looks up, meeting his eyes like he hasn’t been avoiding them for months. A part of Dean wants to call him on it, but honestly? Cas acting like nothing happened is infinitely preferable to another adjustment period of any kind.

Dean’s just thrilled if it means things are back to normal.

“This is about a rogue knight fighting against a corrupt king,” Cas says, tilting his head. Ah. That’s one of Dean’s favorites. “Was it written after King Roman was ousted?”

Dean shrugs.

“Probably? Roman was bad news, that’s for sure.”

“Was it based on your father?”

Dean smiles.

“Could have been. Fun fact, though; my mom actually fought in the army, too.”

Cas looks intrigued.

“They fought together?”

“Yup. Not a lot of people know that, though. The towns, they didn’t shift much from how things have always been, but all the big-name, important families played by Roman’s rules so they wouldn’t fall outta favor. My mom was a beta, but since she was a girl, she wasn’t supposed to do much.” Dean grins. “Of course, the Campbells had been putting out knights for centuries, basically, and she picked things up, anyway, and once the resistance got going . . .”

Cas nods slowly, processing.

“Why wasn’t she king, then?”

“Uh. Technically, they co-ruled before she died, although my Dad was the one who got the movement going and fought Roman for the crown. Combat victory rules, you know.”

“Oh.”

“We’ll be like that, too, probably,” Dean says, a little wary of Cas’s thoughtful face. “I mean, technically — the upper classes always have dumber rules about shit, so — you know, since I’m the one who’s actually the heir, you’re, uh, mine. But that’s mostly just the technicality. You’ll, you know, have a say. If you want one,” he adds, shrugging. “If you just wanna wander around fighting shit, that’s cool, too.”

Cas blinks.

“I don’t know. I never thought about it.”

“My Dad’ll probably be around for a while,” Dean reassures him. “He should be, anyway. Hell, it could be another thirty years before you or I have to worry about anything.”

Cas shrugs, though he looks unsure.

“Alright. That’s . . . good. I always wanted to be a knight, but even when I thought I would be an alpha, I had no expectations of — of power, or anything.”

“Like I said. Anything you don’t wanna worry about, you don’t have to. I’ll take care of it.”

For a long moment, Cas just kind of looks at him.

And then he smiles, glancing down.

“I know,” he says softly. “Thank you.”

The baths arrive, then — Dean has to literally withhold the honeycakes until Cas goes in for his — and it’s kind of a good thing. For a weird, uncomfortable moment, Dean almost felt like they were having two different conversations.

But then Cas is sullenly trudging into the bathroom, Dean exaggeratedly sniffing the honeycakes — “Better hurry, man, or there might not be any left!” “We had a _deal, _ Dean. You’re a _knight. _ Have some _honor._” — and he forgets all about it.

Cas wakes up feeling better than he has in _months_.

Unfortunately, he also wakes up huddled into Dean’s side, nose buried in his collar, and in his panic at being discovered, rolls away with such fervor he tumbles right off the other side of the bed.

Dean jerks upright, whipping a dagger out from — somewhere, Cas isn’t quite sure — and peers wildly around him.

Cas just shuts his eyes, cheeks growing hot, and futilely prays he won’t be discovered.

“Cas?” Dean asks a moment later, voice still a little sleep-rough in a way Cas has never taken note of before and is struggling to understand why he finds compelling now. “Did you — fall out of bed?”

Cas sighs.

“Yes.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yes.”

There’s a long pause.

“Does that — happen a lot?”

“No.”

“Oh.” Dean clears his throat. “Well, maybe you’re going through a growth spurt. Sam used to crash in here sometimes and he got pretty damn flail-y. I hope they’re not lettin’ you sleep on a top bunk.”

“No. Kevin wanted the top bunk, since he gets claustrophobic, and I don’t care either way.”

Dean winces.

“Yeah, he’s not gonna like the training simulations when you guys move up in rank.” Dean swings his legs over the edge of the bed, coming around to pull Cas to his feet. “Come on, wash up and let’s go to breakfast.”

Awkwardness mostly averted, Cas follows him into the bathroom, pleased to see a second bowl of water set out for him.

Though it’s entirely possible someone saw him plastered to Dean like some kind of — clinging _child, _Cas supposes — but he chooses to ignore it.

After all, how can he dwell on minor ills today? Despite his worry and trepidation and the increasing misery of the last few months, Dean just — he simply _forgave _him.

(Well, mostly. Cas suspects the bath tyranny was a frankly petty form of vengeance, honeycakes or not, but Dean still dried his hair for him afterward, so he couldn’t have been _too _angry.)

And then he tousled Cas’s hair and gave him a _hug_. Even though Cas’s apology happened less than five minutes prior and was preceded by an uncalled-for level of rudeness for months, Dean _hugged _him. Just like that. Aside from his obnoxious rules about baths, there seemed to be no punishment forthcoming, like even Sam anticipated.

Though Cas _was _briefly alarmed when Dean hugged him, because Dean smelled just as good as he did that first night he came home, and Cas found himself instinctively clinging, lost in the same bizarre haze from before until Dean shook him out of it.

Dean didn’t seem to think too much of it, though, and more importantly, Cas feels _fine _today.

Perhaps his fears were irrational, after all.

Because underneath the scent, it’s still just Dean, isn’t it? And Dean is Cas’s friend and his family, like Sam, even if they’re apparently not as close. More important than probably anything else, Cas likes spending time with Dean, and anything beyond that is probably best just forgotten.

“You ready to go?” Dean asks, putting the drying cloth back on the hook and turning to him.

Cas didn’t know you could miss the sight of someone’s face when you technically saw them every day, but he takes a few seconds to just look at Dean.

“Yes,” he finally says, when Dean lifts his brows curiously.

Cas sort of wishes he could have another hug.

“Nice night, Clarence?”

Meg whistles at him when he returns to the barracks to dress for practice, and he bristles a little at the teasing note in her voice.

But Meg almost _always _sounds like that, and actually —

“Yes. A very nice night. Thank you, Meg,” he says, and Meg raises her brows, their barrack-mates exchanging intrigued looks around them.

“Uh-huh,” she says slowly. “_Really_? Tell me more about that.”

Cas would be happy to share his good feelings, but his reasons for needing to apologize are personal, so he simply gives her a sharp look and tells her so.

“That’s personal, Meg.”

Her eyes go a little wide, and his barrack-mates don’t look much different.

“_Well_,” she drawls. “Look at you, Clarence.”

Cas looks down at himself, puzzled.

“Is there something on me?”

She chortles.

“Not anymore, I guess,” she sing-songs, slapping him on the shoulder as she walks past. “I’d ask for details, but if it’s _personal, _then I guess I’m outta luck. See you at practice.”

He barely has time to try and process that before the others are crowding in close, open curiosity on their faces.

“What’s it like?” Emily asks.

“What is what like?”

She nudges him.

“With Prince Dean.”

Cas frowns.

“It’s — very nice?” Any awkwardness over the last couple of months has been Cas’s fault, after all, and aside from Dean’s tendency to be overbearing, being with Dean _is _very nice.

Alfie huffs, rubbing his neck and looking vaguely embarrassed, for some reason.

“What does that _mean, _Cas?”

“Yeah, is it _good_?”

Cas is at a complete loss.

“Uh. Yes? His company is — very satisfying?” He has no idea what they’re looking for. ‘Very nice’ was rather encompassing, in his opinion, but this next statement elicits a chorus of ‘ooh’s.

“You lucky dog,” Tracy mutters, and with a shake of her head, wanders off to the field.

It looks like the rest of them might ask more bizarre questions, although Cas has been married to Dean for two and a half years and no one’s asked anything like this before, so Cas offers them a tense smile and hurries after her before they have the chance.

Lawrencians are so _strange _sometimes.

Life goes on very smoothly, after that. Cas struggles to adjust to the new training sessions with Dean, for some reason, finding himself flustered and uncoordinated at strange times, enough that Dean even comments on the disparity between what he witnesses on the training field.

“Hey, I know I’m a higher rank, but when you’re a knight, you might go up against a lot of people bigger or more skilled-seeming than you. You can’t let intimidation affect you.”

It’s frustrating. Cas is not — he’s not _afraid _of Dean. He just — Dean is a little disorienting, and the reason why utterly eludes him.

It’s _maddening. _ Everything he’s doing is not just to be the best knight in Lawrence, but to _prove _that when the day comes for Dean to fight him for real.

How can he do that if the one person he actually has trouble fighting _is _Dean?

Eventually, though, whatever the problem is, it fades. Cas no longer falters in his step when Dean pushes right into his space, no longer blinks between Dean’s movement and his own reaction when the wind sweeps traces of his scent right into Cas’s nose, no longer turns sluggish when the light catches Dean’s eyes or his arms as they pull taut and he swings the practice sword.

Though it hasn’t faded _entirely. _Cas is disagreeably wily, according to his barrack-mates, but even now, when sparring takes a frustrating turn and Cas finds himself pinned while Dean cackles above him, it takes him a few moments of impotent struggling before he can muster a decent escape.

It’s because Dean is much bigger than anyone else he’s fought, Cas concludes. Even when Sam’s group comes to train with them, none of them have quite filled out, still gangly and a trifle awkward despite their height advantage. Dean, on the other hand, is a solid and considerable weight to manage, and Cas just reassures himself that soon enough, he will match — possibly even _surpass _— Dean for size, and he won’t have this problem anymore.

Other than that, though, things are nice. Dean sometimes accompanies him after training to sit under the tree with Sam, and on nights when it’s too cold, the three of them huddle up near the fire in Dean’s bedchamber before or after dinner. Sometimes, when Cas falls asleep in there and returns to the barracks the next morning, having woken up mysteriously transported to Dean’s bed, his barrack-mates make odd comments, smirks on their faces, but Cas doesn’t bother trying to make sense of them. He asks Sam, once, but Sam just looks frustrated — though not at Cas — and tells him not to worry about it.

Christmas and the New Year pass, the castle warm and lively in a way it hadn’t been the year prior, and when January 24th rolls around, Cas presents Dean with a watercolor he’s been working on all year.

Dean squints at him, and Sam trembles silently in the corner.

“Thanks, Cas. It’s, uh. It’s great. I’ll put it in— _above_. Above the fireplace.”

The watercolor is _atrocious, _and seeing it hanging in Dean’s room pleases Cas more than he ever would have expected.

Winter gives way to the crisp tease of spring, and it’s not until early April that the nights become more tolerable. Reading and cards in front of the fireplace become ruckus-making in the courtyard, and as the evenings grow brighter, Sam and Cas convince Dean to take walks with them outside the castle, where the flowers are just starting to bloom.

Dean grumbles the whole way, sneezing occasionally, and Cas feels very sorry for him. He also feels something warm and soft and glowy, when Dean screws up his face and finally sneezes, but he’s not sure what to make of it.

It feels a lot like affection, he thinks. Perhaps he’s finally growing to love Dean like another brother, too, although when he lags behind a little, looking between Sam and Dean as they joke with each other, it still feels different.

Summer is _stupidly _hot. Sam grows two whole inches and — in a word — _bitches _the entire time, because he’s never comfortable and he’s always too warm, and Cas resents it heavily, because Cas is also always uncomfortable and too warm but he doesn’t even get any added height from it.

Ellen assures him he’s probably not done growing, just yet, but that doesn’t help Cas when he feels like Dean and Sam are towering around him.

To make matters worse, Dean won’t even let either one of them _sit down _in his room until they’ve had a bath. Cas actually likes slipping into the cool water, a nice reprieve from the sweltering heat outside, but he doesn’t appreciate Dean telling them what to do.

Nor does he appreciate Dean aggressively trying to veto Sam’s proposal that Sam and Cas just take their baths at the same time, out of respect for time constraints, but Cas can’t really do much more than sit quietly while Sam rolls his eyes and tells Dean to stop trying to make things weird.

After all, the one time Dean walked in while Cas was in the bath, he felt _incredibly _self-conscious and embarrassed. He’s not sure what’s so different about Sam intermittently splashing around five feet away, pretending to loudly gossip about Dean and making Cas laugh, but it feels fairly similar to bath time with his barrack-mates, if a little more amusing.

The few times Dean hasn’t taken his bath before dinner and _three_ tubs are brought up to the room, Cas feels so awkward and distracted he misses half the jokes and washes his hair twice or not at all.

_Aside from that, _however, things are — well, nearly perfect.

And then in August, a letter comes.

_Dear Cas,_

_Hopefully this letter reaches you before any other news of the incident. I’__d__ like to start by saying that I’__m__ very well; by the time you get this, there will be nary a scratch or bruise still visible __(__unless, of course, that infuriating Talbot woman and I come to blows between now and then, but I’m __mostly sure_ _that I, at least, __am well-bred enough to refrain__)._

_ Now that you know not to worry, I should let you know that my party was attacked en route to Lettra for a diplomatic visit. It appears to be a plot of assassination, carried out by Purgaeans disguised as Lettrans shortly after we crossed the border._

_ Michael’s having a fit, even worse than usual, and I shudder to think what will befall the perpetrators now that we’ve turned them over, but my visit has proceeded smoothly, aside from that. It’s entirely possible that their Queen has an even larger stick up her ass than Michael, but I would not want them in the same room to compare._

_In any case, disaster was averted; there is a hoodlum of sorts inhabiting the woods there, who is apparently not a hoodlum at all, and happens to be very handy with a _ _bow and arrow._ _ It is debatable whether my would-be-assassin will retain use of his hand, but I am certain that my rescuer should not remain a wary scavenger in the woods._

_ As it turns out, she is technically a citizen of Lawrence, and she has fled for the dubious asylum of the foreign wilderness because _ — _I don’t know? Your husband’s father is incapable of enforcing _ _these progressive_ _ laws _ _I hear so much about__? At any rate, she had found herself in the very disagreeable position of being troth to some monstrous young man of her parents’ choosing, and despite her countless refusals, was to be forced into _ _it anyway. _

_As one might expect of a strong-minded, _ _bow__-wielding young lady, she ran the hell away, but her circumstances are both undeserved and less than ideal. She is tentatively considering seeking asylum in Eden, where I will be able to offer her shelter, but you and I both know our customs can leave something to be desired._

_ Either way, I believe she deserves to live in her own damn country without fearing abduction or _ _punishment. Last you wrote, your husband sounded as fond of you as ever; if you could give him your Sad Look and implore him to promise her a guarantee of safety and a means of starting over, I would be glad to send her your way._

_ I hope to visit you for your birthday, either way. Please send word as soon as you know._

_ All my love,_

_ Anna_

Cas is not totally sure what ‘Sad Look’ Anna is referring to, but he is nearly as distressed by this poor young woman’s story as he is by Anna’s close call. Considering that his sister might be _dead _if not for the girl’s interference, Cas is wholeheartedly determined to see her better off, and honestly thinks Dean would have to be a monster not to agree.

Cas rarely thinks of it, but at nearly seventeen, he’s not stupid. He knows Michael would have married him to someone else, if not to Dean; Dean and Sam sometimes discuss Sam’s ‘prospects’ as Dean jokingly calls them, particularly when John invites guests and they’re worried he’s going to try and arrange something, and Cas understands the why’s-and-wherefore’s of a political alliance much better, now. In light of that, he has vague memories of various court-persons he might have been given to, had Lawrence refused, and in addition to making Cas abide by Edenish rules for omegas, they wouldn’t have been a tenth as good company as Dean is.

(Cas has a thought, idly listening to one such conversation between the two, that they weren’t a tenth as _handsome _as Dean, either, and it feels strange in his head.)

In any case, he has a moral obligation to protect the girl from suffering a fate he had the good fortune to avoid, and he’s scarcely finished the letter before he’s leaping up from the tree base and striding away, determined to extract this promise from Dean _immediately._

“Woah — Cas — what’s up?” Sam calls, scrambling after him, and Cas pauses.

“My sister was nearly assassinated. And the girl who rescued her had to _run away _from Lawrence because her parents were trying to make her marry an _ogre, _and she deserves to come home, if she wants. I’m _sure _Dean will understand.” Cas frowns, considering. “I think — if it’s a — a particular request from his husband, he should say yes. Right?”

Sam looks alarmed for the first half of it, and then his mouth sort of twitches, though he nods, expression grave.

“Oh, yeah. Definitely. Do you want me to come with you?”

Cas considers this.

“Yes,” he decides. “You’re mostly very reasonable, Sam. I’m sure you can help convince him, if he’s being contrary today.”

That settled, he sets off for Dean’s chambers. Hopefully Dean has already taken his post-training bath. Not only will he be in a better mood, but Cas isn’t sure he’ll be able to give Dean the ‘Sad Look’ — or any looks period — if he’s expected to state his case while Dean is in the bath.

He shakes the thought away; he’s sure that, like with training, he will eventually become accustomed to that and think nothing of it at all. Besides, if that is what it takes to grant the young lady asylum — well, then Cas will address Dean while he's in the bath, after all.

He’s so filled with determination (and mildly afraid of losing his nerve), that he sort of forgets to knock when he arrives at Dean’s rooms well ahead of Sam, which wouldn’t be a problem, except —

Except Dean is not alone.

**

There’s a feminine yelp from the direction of the bed when Cas throws open the door, full of righteous intent, and he falters in his confusion, searching out the noise.

He just barely catches the glimpse of someone’s unclothed back before the blonde is rolling off to the side, hauling a sheet up over herself.

“I — I — where is Dean?” he asks, and Dean himself groans and pops upright, cheeks very red.

“Son of a — _Cas. _Have you ever heard of _knocking_?”

“Oh.” Cas blinks, swallowing hard. This is — not a scenario he prepared for.

Nor is it one he’s encountered before.

“I — I — I have a letter from my sister—” he starts, and Dean huffs out a laugh, burying his face in his palms.

“Christ.” He looks up, smiling a little. “Listen, man, I would love to hear about that letter, I really would, but maybe you could come back in—”

He glances down, pulling the blanket up and grinning at — at whoever is under it.

“Thirty minutes?” he asks, although he doesn’t appear to be addressing Cas. Dean winces, dropping the blanket and turning back to Cas with a sheepish look. “Actually, how about I just, uh, see you at dinner?”

Cas hesitates, holding up his letter.

“But it’s impo—”

A hand seizes his shoulder from behind, Sam huffing.

“Um, yeah, no, let’s — let’s go, Cas. Okay? The letter can’t go out until tomorrow morning, anyway, and Dean is, um, in the middle of something important.”

Cas glances over his shoulder, and frowns when he realizes Sam is talking with a hand over his own eyes.

Cas has learned not to be discomfited by Dean’s bare chest — for the most part — since they trained during the summer months, but even if he hadn’t, he’s very focused on the missive from Anna.

“I — but—”

Dean starts laughing again, though it quickly turns into an ‘oof’ when there’s a sharp movement from beneath the blanket.

“Sorry, Cas,” he says again. “But, uh, yeah. Could you leave?”

Cas takes a deep breath.

He knows he’s going to see Dean at dinner, and doubtless, Dean will hear him out, but —

It feels strange to be asked to _leave._

He’s working up to some kind of protest, because he’s sure this is not quite right, but Sam gently pulls him back and shuts the door in front of him.

“I — but —” Cas starts, and Sam looks torn between amusement and embarrassment.

“Really, Cas. You, um, you didn’t want to stick around for that.”

“Well, of course not.” Obviously Dean was doing bedroom things. “But I really think this was more important.”

“Right, but — like I said, you can’t do anything right away —” There’s an odd sort of thump from inside the room, and then a throaty chuckle that sounds like Dean and yet doesn’t, and Sam makes a face and tugs Cas away from the room. “And trust me, it’s _really _awkward to be interrupted during that kind of thing.”

**

“Yes, but — I’m his _husband,_ ” Cas insists, and Sam slows, giving him a concerned look. “And he asked me to _leave _when I had something important to tell him.”

“Well, he was in the middle of something,” Sam says slowly.

“_That _ was not important,” Cas grits out, increasingly irritated, and it occurs to him that one of the worst things about being sent away was that it was so Dean could prioritize someone else. “Unless it _is. _Is that more important than what I have to say?” he demands, and Sam looks comically awkward.

Cas is in no mood to laugh.

“Um, well — it’s not that it’s more _important, _ it’s just that — he can talk to you later. But he can’t really, um, finish that _later. _You know?”

“No, I _don’t _know.” Ellen thoroughly explained sex to him, and at no point did she indicate that it must be concluded in one session from start to finish.

Dean is being _self-indulgent, _ is what he’s being. _Typical._

Sam coughs.

“Uh. Well. It isn’t — it really — it’s _extremely _uncomfortable to stop in the middle of it,” Sam continues, cheeks red and eyes looking off to the side.

“Yes, well, many things are uncomfortable, Sam, but this was — I think this counted as an _emergency._”

Sam gives him a sympathetic look.

“I know, but — if it’s something that can be taken care of later, it’s — it’s really not.”

Cas huffs.

“Well, how uncomfortable can it be?”

Sam gives him a funny look.

“Um. Well — haven’t you ever — I mean, in the mornings, or — I don’t know, during your heat, but you can’t take care of it, and it’s really uncomfortable?”

Cas is utterly baffled for a moment, but a brief scan of his conversation with Ellen has him frowning.

“Are you referring to erections, Sam?”

Sam coughs.

“Um, yeah, that.”

“Of course they’re uncomfortable. But you just wait for them to go away.”

Sam screws up his face.

“You — do?”

“Yes.” Cas is aware that there are other things he can do to it, but they seem like more of an ordeal than just waiting it out.

“Oh.”

Sam is quiet for a minute.

“Right. Well. In this case, it’s, um, it’s rude to your partner to just — stop in the middle of things.”

Cas has the unnecessarily petty thought that it would serve Dean’s partner right for occupying his attention when Cas urgently needed it, but he understands that logically, Sam is right.

He sighs.

“Fine. We’ll wait until dinner,” he agrees, but he doesn’t feel good about it.

In fact, he feels kind of terrible.

Of course, that only makes sense; his sister was nearly _assassinated, _ and a heroic young woman is being forced to live in the _woods._

Cas is still not sure this isn’t an emergency.

Earlier, Cas intended to be as ingratiating and pleasant as possible, but it’s odd. As soon as Dean sits down at dinner, hair still damp from the bath and smelling of soap, Cas’s already indifferent mood somehow _worsens._

“Hey, guys,” he says cheerfully. “So, what’d you need earlier? Something about your sister?”

This is Cas’s opening to explain, to impart upon Dean the severity of the situation, and yet the words stick in his throat.

He saws his venison into tiny bites, unable to look at him, and what actually comes out is:

“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather eat your dinner first?”

Nor does it come out like a polite offer; it comes out bitter and sarcastic and even Sam gives him a startled look.

“Uh.” Dean furrows his brow. “Hey, I’m sorry about earlier, but that kind of thing — I can’t just stop in the _middle_—”

“Yes, Sam explained how _lesser_ men deal with erections,” Cas informs him, and Dean’s jaw drops.

“Wait, _what_—”

“That’s not what I said!” Sam interjects, but Cas ignores him.

“Anyway, you didn’t seem to think it was very important, so I would hate to take up your time with something that doesn’t _matter _to you.”

Dean looks torn between confusion and irritation, which — _good. _Cas feels the same.

“The hell? I told you we’d talk at dinner. If it was an emergency, you could have said—”

“It wasn’t,” Cas bites out, and Dean throws up his hands.

“Then what are you so pissed about?” Across from them, Sam ducks his head, suddenly very engrossed in his soup. “I’m here now, so — come on. Tell me what’s up.”

Dean clearly doesn’t get it, and the worst part is, Cas doesn’t either, so instead of responding he just pulls the letter out of his pocket and shoves it at Dean.

He glares, but takes it, scanning the contents.

“Yeah, buddy, I don’t think this is what she meant by ‘Sad Look.’”

If Cas had been raised in Lawrence, he would almost certainly tell Dean to ‘fuck off’ right now.

As it is, he simply glowers.

“Okay, so — I’m real glad your sister is okay, and of course we’ll arrange something for the girl. Hell, we’ll round up her dickbag parents and the other guy. They know that shit’s illegal. But we can’t do a damn thing until tomorrow, so what gives?”

Cas just shakes his head, taking a bite of his food.

“Dude, come on—”

He clenches his fists and stands.

“I’m going back to the barracks,” he announces, and strides out of the Great Hall, puzzled at the breadth of his own anger.

To his surprise, Dean shows up to the barracks first thing in the morning, wandering past Cas’s curious barrack-mates to where Cas is putting on his shoes to head to breakfast.

“What are you doing here?” Cas asks. He felt a little sick before he went to bed, though he was mostly still stewing in anger, but by the time he woke up, he was downright nauseated.

Going to bed without dinner will do that, but the instant he realizes it’s Dean standing in front of him, he feels a little better, somehow.

Dean sighs, offering him a hand to stand up.

“Wanted to walk you to breakfast. I think we need to talk about something.”

Dean doesn’t look happy about it, and the sick feeling comes back a little. Cas was _full _of things to say once he made it back to the barracks last night, but now they’ve all dried up on his tongue; what’s more, he’s suddenly not sure he wants to hear what Dean has to say, either.

“About what?” he asks carefully, and Dean jerks his head toward the barrack doors.

“While we walk. We don’t need anyone eavesdropping.”

There’s a smothered giggle from a few feet away, Emily quickly turning her head, and Cas sighs, finally placing his hand in Dean’s and getting to his feet.

They’re already through the barrack doors before Cas realizes he’s still holding Dean’s hand, and he quickly lets go.

“Sorry.”

Dean studies him for a moment, then shakes his head.

“Nah. I should be saying sorry.”

Cas waits, curious.

“Uh, after you left, Sam pointed out that — you know. I was being insensitive. He was pretty damn unhelpful when I asked about _what, _but I thought about it, a lot, and I think I figured it out.” Dean rubs the back of his neck, not looking at Cas.

“And?” Cas prompts, a little desperate. Even he’s still confused as to just why he got so _angry _at Dean last night.

“I forget that you’re not — that you haven’t always been here. You’ve been in Lawrence for years, now, and we eat all our meals together and train in the evenings and you and Sam are attached at the damn hip, and it — it feels like you’re ours, you know?”

Cas tilts his head.

“I’m not,” he points out. “I’m just yours.”

Dean gives him a startled look.

“What? Shit, no — I didn’t mean — I meant _Lawrence’s. _You know? But you’re Edenish, originally. You’ve got a whole, big-ass family back there, and your sister’s the best of them, and — you love her a lot, right? A lot longer than you’ve loved any of us. Uh, if you do love us, I mean,” he adds hastily, and Cas nods.

“I love Sam very much,” he says truthfully, and for a moment, he thinks Dean looks hurt.

“Uh, right. Yeah.” Dean swallows, hesitates. “Yeah. Anyway, so — gettin’ a letter like that — you must’ve been a little out of your mind with worry, even if you knew she was alright. It was a close thing. If someone sent me that kind of news about Sam or y— about someone in my family, I’d be — yeah.”

Cas supposes that’s a reasonable explanation for his ire, though Anna’s near-miss was conspicuously absent from his thoughts last night.

Of course, by then he was already furious with Dean, so that no doubt accounts for it.

“It’s alright,” he says, and he thinks it is. He still feels uncomfortable when he thinks about yesterday, but the apology goes a long way toward soothing his anger.

“It’s not. Obviously, I didn’t know what had happened when you came up to the room, but — I shouldn’t have let my temper get to me, later. I get why you wanted to talk to me about it right away.”

Cas shrugs.

“It’s okay, Dean.” He hesitates. “I am supposed to knock.”

Dean smirks a little.

“Yeah, you are. Bet you learned your lesson.”

Cas sighs.

“Indeed.”

“Just be glad you didn’t get an eyeful,” Dean retorts, and Cas frowns.

“An eyeful of what?”

Dean arches a brow, gesturing along the expanse of his body.

It takes Cas a moment, and then he colors, glancing away.

“Oh.”

Dean laughs, swiping at his head to muss his hair.

“Yeah, ‘oh.’ C’mon, man, you must be starving.”

Cas mutely follows him into breakfast, still thinking about the ‘eyeful’ he didn’t get and struggling to understand why.

Dean is in a fucking foul mood.

He shouldn’t be; he and Cas made up without a two-month-long awkward silence, and he even sent a letter out to Anna formally offering the girl asylum at the castle. The arrow-shooting tale leads him to believe she might want in on some knight-training, at least as a reserve, and as soon as he gets word of her identity, he’ll send the castle guards to personally arrest everybody involved in that bullshit.

Anyway, he should be feeling pretty good; hell, he got _laid _yesterday, a thing that’s been happening way less since he came back last year than before he left in the first place.

And yet. And _ye__t._

_ I love Sam very much._

Dean’s pretty sure Cas doesn’t mean that in the way he used to be worried about. Sure, it still weirds him out that Cas is comfortable taking a bath in the same room as Sam, but Sam informed him that Cas bathes in a whole fucking room of people in the barracks — people like _Meg _— and there wasn’t a lot Dean could say to that. Sure, he got a wet washcloth to the face that one time, but he figures Cas must have just been worried about Dean seeing his scar.

Still — there’s that peripheral worry. Last time they were in Bobby’s office and Dean had it confirmed that no, Sam wasn’t putting the moves on Cas, they were both a little younger. Hell, Cas didn’t even actually know what _sex _was.

But a lot changes in a year, at that age, and feelings could develop, for either of them, at any time.

And fine, if Dean’s being honest — his feelings are hurt. Cas apparently _only _loves Sam, and that — it feels kind of shitty. Logically, it makes sense; Dean went away for eighteen months, Dean is older and more boring, probably, Dean’s kind of a nag, shit, he doesn’t even know what else.

But — even if he just loved Sam _more, _ that would be fine, but he made it sound like he didn’t give a fuck about Dean at all, period. And that seems a bit — it’s not that Cas owes him anything, but come on, they spend half of every day together, it feels like, and he answered every damn letter Cas sent him while he was away, and — and well, Dean considers _Cas _his family. Cas occupies this weird sort of not-quite-Sam-shaped space in his heart, so it’s kind of lowering to think that Dean’s just — some random guy to Cas.

Whatever, though, right? However fond of him Dean might be, all the kid needs from Dean is training and the occasional answer to questions and whatever amount of general protection Dean provides by being his husband.

All shit that doesn’t mean anything to kids.

Still, Dean’s in a sour mood for the rest of the week, and he’s ashamed to say that he kind of takes it out on Cas.

He laughs a little too unkindly when Cas doesn’t understand a reference he or Sam makes, and he declines to let them come hang out in his room, even though in some ways that kind of screws Dean, too, because he likes the company. He ‘accidentally’ eats the last honeycake at breakfast one morning, and he’s half afraid Cas is going to attack him with his fork when he realizes.

And in training — well. Dean would never hurt him, not even close, but he’s a little less gentle than usual.

“Your left is wide open,” Dean chides him, not bothering to keeps his weight off Cas like he usually does.

Cas grunts, twisting a little, and if Dean feels a little bad at taking advantage of his size/strength advantage, he quickly shoves it aside. This is _training. _Cas should know how uncomfortable it is to have someone much bigger and heavier pinning you down, or else he might not try hard enough to avoid it.

“It is _not,_” he wheezes, trying to get his hands between them to push Dean off.

Dean’s a dick though, so he just kind of settles in and waits while Cas figures it out.

Eventually, Cas makes a frustrated noise and gives up, collapsing back. Dean props up on one elbow, smirking down at him, and Cas narrows his eyes.

“You’re a lot heavier than usual,” he mutters. “I think you’ve been eating too many honeycakes.”

Dean’s so surprised he relaxes, leaving Cas room to flip him off and scramble to his feet, sword back in hand as he glowers at Dean, panting.

Dean shrugs and jumps up, not discreetly patting his middle at all.

“Okay, then. Again.”

They go like that, and if Cas ends up on the ground a lot more than usual, well — clearly Dean was going too easy on him, before.

It’s when they’re heading in for dinner, no time for Dean to take a bath or Cas to read with Sam because Dean insisted they stay out, that Cas takes a breath and stops him with a hand on his sleeve.

“Dean,” he starts, and Dean quirks a brow at him.

“What’s up?”

‘I was — I was wondering.” Cas clears his throat. “Are you angry at me?”

Dean hesitates.

“No. Why?”

“You seem . . . tense. Sam thought so, too,” he adds quickly, and Dean shrugs.

“Nothing for you to worry about.”

Cas frowns.

“If you’re upset, even if it’s not with me, then of course I’d worry.”

“I don’t see why,” Dean says, because he can’t help himself, and Cas tilts his head.

“Why wouldn’t I? You’re . . .” Cas pauses, frowning. “Well, you’re my husband.”

“So?”

Cas looks a little upset.

“You’re my friend.”

“Worry about your real friends, like Sam,” he counters, before he can stop himself, and Cas looks taken aback.

“Dean, what — you’re my real friend, as well!”

Dean closes his eyes, taking a breath and feeling insanely dumb. What is it about hanging out with teenagers that makes you _behave _like one?

He knows he’s being childish, but hey, he’s already here, so he might as well, right?

“But it’s not the same, is it?” he says, catching Cas’s eye. “You love Sam, like you love your sister.”

Dean waits, a small part of him hoping last week was an accidental omission, but Cas freezes, falling behind. Dean can tell by the look on his face that he knows exactly what Dean is referring to, and he doesn’t have a good answer for it.

Well, that’s nothing Dean didn’t already know, is it?

He softens a little at the obvious distress on Cas’s face, patting his head.

“It’s fine, Cas. I’m just sayin’ — don’t sweat it, okay? It’s got nothin’ to do with you.”

And then he heads in for dinner without waiting for a response.

Cas is — confused.

That much, he knows. But he also feels a little bit _devastated, _and he’s not sure why.

Dean didn’t say anything Cas didn’t already know. As close as Cas feels to Dean sometimes, especially as the year has passed, it’s still not the same as it is with Sam, or Anna.

And yet, hearing Dean suggest there was something — something _less _— hurt Cas’s feelings as much as it appears to have hurt Dean’s.

But he doesn’t even know what to say to fix it, because the fact remains that he _doesn’t _love Dean. He’s been expecting it to happen, that last little puzzle piece slotting into place so that when he looks between Sam and Dean while they’re at dinner or sitting by the tree or out walking, there’s no difference.

But it doesn’t happen. He’s so fond of Dean — terribly so — and he craves his company regardless of how much of it he’s already had. Dean was nearly called away again, a couple months ago, forcing Cas to consider life in the castle without him, and the thought was unbearable.

In spite of that, though — it doesn’t amount to love, not the way it should, and even if Cas tells Dean how very important he is to him, even _he_ recognizes it’s a cheap substitute.

Cas is slow to enter the Hall, to take his seat beside Dean. He’s still thinking about it, and it makes him feel sick. Returning to that baseline assertion that he _doesn’t _love Dean feels wrong, somehow, even if he knows it’s true, and he picks at his dinner, watching Dean out of the corner of his eye.

Dean hardly says a word, and the moment his plate is clean, he excuses himself to his room.

Cas turns to Sam once he’s gone, baleful.

“Dean’s angry at me,” he informs him, and Sam sighs.

“Yeah? You guys talked?”

Cas nods.

“It’s because I don’t love him.”

Sam blinks.

“Um — you don’t?”

Cas hesitates.

“I don’t think so.”

“Huh.”

Cas frowns at him.

“You disagree?”

“I mean, that’s not really for me to say, but I guess I thought you did.”

He takes a moment to digest this.

“Why did you think that?”

“You act like you do? I would have said you loved both of us. I mean, I know you have family back in Eden, but you’re our family now, too.”

Cas swallows.

“I love _you_,” he offers, and Sam smiles.

“Yeah. Me, too, Cas. But you really don’t think you love Dean?”

He didn’t, but he feels unsure now.

“It’s — different, than it is with you. I think I almost love Dean, but — I don’t know. Not quite.”

Sam hesitates, looking deeply conflicted.

“I get that. Maybe you’re right. But — you know there’s different kinds of love, right?”

“No? Don’t you either love someone or you don’t?”

“Well, yeah, but you can love them in different ways.”

“What do you mean?”

Sam considers this.

“Well, for example, I love both Dean and my Dad, right? But I don’t love my Dad like I love Dean. They’re both family, but Dean’s also one of my best friends, and I look up to him, and I actually enjoy having dinner with him.”

Cas smiles a little at that.

“And then there’s you. You’re my family and one of my best friends, so it’s a lot like Dean, although you feel more like a peer. I don’t depend on you the same way I depend on Dean.”

“Okay.”

“And then I love all my friends, and I guess they’re kind of like family? But not in the same way as you and Dean are. But Bobby and Ellen feel like family, and I also love them for helping take care of and train me while I was growing up.”

“Right.”

“So — I love all of you, but in different ways, depending on the person, you know?”

“Oh. That — makes sense.” Cas studies his plate. “So maybe I do love Dean, but — in a different way than I love you and Anna?”

Sam hesitates.

“Probably?”

“How can I tell, then?”

“Um. Well, what if one of us had to go away for another eighteen months, and you could choose who it had to be? Who would you send away?”

Cas gapes at him.

“Neither one of you!”

“But you _have _to,” he presses. “Who would you miss more?”

Cas shakes his head, disturbed. He eats with both of them, and he loves the time he spends reading with Sam, but he also loves training with Dean, even apart from any skill benefit he gets from it, and he’s very fond of the nights he spends in the castle with him, whether Sam is there or not.

“I couldn’t choose,” he finally says, shaking his head. “I’m sorry.”

Sam nods.

“Don’t you think that means you probably love Dean as much as me, then?”

Cas blinks.

That’s . . . a very good point. If Cas loved Sam more, and Dean not at all, the choice would be obvious.

But it isn’t.

“So I do love Dean,” he marvels, and Sam’s lips quirk.

“I thought so.”

“But what kind of love is that?”

Sam hesitates, then shrugs.

“Does it matter what kind, so long as it’s there?”

No. Cas likes to know what’s going on, so he’s a little curious, but he can’t really say it _matters._

Mostly, he feels unexpectedly elated to know, with a certainty, that he _does _love Dean.

“No, I suppose not,” he agrees, and smiles at Sam. “You’re full of wisdom today.”

Sam huffs a laugh.

“I’ve actually, um, been thinking about this question, so . . . I’m glad I could help.”

“You did. Thank you.” Cas gets to his feet. “I should go tell Dean, though. It’s very uncomfortable to fight with him.”

Sam grins.

“_Tell _me about it.”

“I will, when I get back,” Cas promises, and hurries off to see Dean, disregarding Sam’s quiet laugh behind him.

Dean has just climbed out of the tub when there’s a knock on his door.

He wraps the towel around his waist and plods over to yank it open.

He’s not sure what he’s expecting — the laundry with more towels, an amorous visitor, Sam here to yell at him for upsetting Cas, like this is _his _fault — but he’s really not expecting Cas himself, eyes bright and eager when Dean opens the door.

His little smile slips a bit when he sees Dean, though Dean’s not sure who the hell else he would have expected.

“Oh — you’re — I can come back —”

Dean rolls his eyes, gesturing Cas inside.

“This is not one of the ‘come back later’ times, Cas, you’re fine.”

“Oh — alright.”

Cas shuffles in, and Dean shuts the door behind him, leaning against it to study him.

“What’s up, Cas? If this is about what we talked about before dinner, I told you, it’s fine.”

And it totally is. Really.

Cas hesitates.

“I love you,” he says in a rush, and then gets a not-at-all-adorable blush going. “I wanted to tell you that.”

Dean squashes down the happy little bubble that tries to start expanding within, because this is clearly a load of bullshit. Dean read Cas loud and clear last week, not to mention two hours ago, and this right here? This is just Cas trying to get out of the doghouse.

“No, you don’t,” he says tiredly, pushing off the door and walking toward the wardrobe for clothes. “It’s fine.”

Cas grabs his wrist, tugging him back, and peers up at him with earnest blue eyes.

“I do. I just — I didn’t know — Sam told me you can love people in different ways. Like how he loves King John differently than he loves you, but he still loves you both.”

“If you’re about to tell me you love me like Sam loves our Dad, that is _not _better.”

“No, I don’t think so.” Cas frowns, then shakes his head. “I’m not really sure how it is, but Sam said it didn’t matter. And it doesn’t. I always enjoy our talks, our time together. I like seeing you every day. I’d never want to _not _see you every day.”

Cas’s grip on his wrist tightens, and he steps closer, face serious.

“I _definitely _love you, Dean. Very much.”

Dean swallows.

Oh. That’s — Cas seems pretty sure of that.

Dean looks back at him, searching for insincerity, any sign that Cas is just saying what he thinks Dean wants to hear, but there’s nothing.

Cas believes that, Dean thinks. And he almost — he kind of looks happy about it.

Dean doesn’t want to get caught grinning, so he covers by pulling Cas into a hug.

“Well, me too,” he mumbles, hiding the smile in Cas’s hair.

Cas is weirdly tense for a long moment before his arms slip around Dean and he buries his face in Dean’s neck with a deep sigh.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

“For what?”

“I — don’t think I would have liked it if you hadn’t said it back. You must have been hurt.”

Dean hesitates. On the one hand, he’s already insisted that wasn’t the case, but there’s a lot of sappy communication happening here, and he thinks it’s probably a good thing, so . . .

“A little,” he admits. “You’re, uh — pretty important to me now, Cas. Kinda sucked thinking you didn’t care.”

Cas clutches him a little tighter.

“I’m sorry,” he says again, cheek soft and warm where it rests on Dean’s skin. Dean’s suddenly conscious of the fact that it’s — well, it’s kind of weird to hug this long, isn’t it? If it were Sam and they were hugging after this long, Dean would be morally obligated to lick his face or give him a wedgie or rub his armpit on him.

Although Dean _just _ had a bath, so rubbing his armpit on Cas would probably not phase him. Cas _hates _being uncomfortable, so a wedgie seems particularly cruel, and licking his face just seems . . . weird.

And then it hits Dean.

He gives an exaggerated sniff.

“Huh. I think somebody could use a bath,” he lies, although Cas smells fine. Better than fine, if he’s being honest. There’s something soft and sweet, like when you open the windows in the spring, maybe after it rains, and then there’s something nice and tart, like an apple except not apples, and — and actually, Dean’s just shy of scenting his hair right now, so maybe he'd better stop. As weird and interesting as scent development can be — Sam’s getting more wintery by the day, a fact which amuses Dean to no end — Cas will probably get super uncomfortable if Dean effectively has him in a headlock while he huffs away at his head.

Cas freezes, then shoves back, gratifyingly indignant, and all is right with the world once again.

“I’m going back to the barracks,” he announces haughtily.

“Yeah? I hope you’re gonna take a bath when you get there.”

“I’m sure it’s nothing for you to worry about,” Cas snaps back and marches to the door.

He pauses when he gets there, and turns around with a small smile that quickly turns to a wide, gummy grin.

“Good night, Dean,” he says, and Dean can’t help but grin back.

“Night, Cas.”

Dean sleeps better than he has all week.

Fortunately, things return to normal, but Cas can’t help but think about his conversation with Sam, about different types of love and the lingering question of what kind he has for Dean.

He would have thought it should be the same as Sam and Anna, and yet it’s not. Of course, Sam distinguishes between Cas and Dean, though they’re both brothers to him, because he grew up with Dean, and he looks up to Dean.

Cas looks up to Dean, as well. Perhaps he loves Dean the way Sam loves Dean?

It’s frustrating, to have no way of knowing.

It’s a week into September when Cas is standing in the courtyard, eagerly awaiting the arrival of the arrow-shooting girl, when he notices something he doesn’t usually notice.

Bobby’s grumbling about the wind, adjusting his cap and side-eyeing Ellen’s long hair as it wisps about her face.

“Don’t know how you and Jo stand that,” he comments. “Couldn’t pay me to have long hair.”

“Well, nobody’s trying. Anyway, if it bugs you, you just braid it or put it in a cap.”

Bobby snorts.

“All that wouldn’t fit in a cap.”

Ellen rolls her eyes and snatches the hat right off his head, performing a fast, complicated movement with her hair until it’s tucked inside.

“In a cap big enough for _your_ head it would,” she says, and it sounds like an argument, but Ellen is smiling and Bobby is smiling, swiping at her head while she elbows at him, and there’s a softness to their interaction that’s a little fascinating.

It’s like when Sam and Dean scuffle and wrestle, yet it also _isn’t, _and Cas can’t quite put his finger on the difference.

Bobby and Ellen have settled down and the guard calls out that the party is in sight by the time Cas’s thoughts have made any progress.

When Anna visited the first time and had that talk with him, the thing that stuck out most was the vague explanation of bedroom things. Now that he looks back, though, he _does _remember talking about Bobby and Ellen – talking about a different kind of love.

What was it she’d told him? When you marry someone even though no one is making you, you’re in love with them?

That isn’t relevant here, and Cas almost dismisses the memory. While he _is_ very happy here, the fact remains that his marriage to Dean is entirely the product of Michael and John’s political aims, and he determined when he and Anna had that conversation that he and Dean were thus not in love, and also that they would probably be happier for it.

But the thought sticks, a little, and for the first time Cas asks himself a different question.

If no one had made him marry Dean — if he weren’t married to Dean right now — would he still _want _to be married to Dean?

The answer comes back as a fairly immediate _yes. _ Cas likes being married to Dean. He likes all the privileges being Dean’s husband affords him with respect to making demands on Dean’s time and attention, and he likes the comfort of knowing it’s always going to be that way, that regardless of what happens, he will, in some way, be special to him. He _particularly _likes being able to point out this connection during negotiations, although if he’s being honest, he’s not technically sure what the rules are, regarding husbandly obligation.

Still, Cas is _already _married to Dean. That must skew results, mustn’t it? And every time they discuss the possibility of John trying to marry Sam off, Cas has a distinctly unpleasant feeling at the idea that someone might take Sam away from them, so this is more likely the petty selfishness of friendship.

But does that mean he would be just as happy being married to Sam?

Cas thinks about it. It would be nice to know Sam could never go too far away from him. He also treasures their special connection, although they’re not married and Sam is his best friend, anyway. But Sam is also rational and accommodating enough that Cas has no need to point out that connection in an effort to make him see reason.

He’s not sure what to make of that, so he decides to apply Sam’s test for whether or not Cas loved Dean.

Rather than asking himself as a yes-or-no question — who would he _rather _be married to?

_Dean._

Cas is surprised to find himself sure of that much, at least. In fact, despite the undeniable advantages of it, he still has no desire to be married to Sam.

Whereas if someone told him he _couldn’t _be married to Dean anymore —

It sounds — well. Unacceptable, if he’s being honest.

He mulls this over, astounded, and just before the guard starts opening the gate, he turns to Bobby.

“Bobby,” he asks him, determined. “If you think you love two people equally, but you’d much rather be married to one of them than the other — what kind of love is that?”

Bobby gapes at him, and Cas thinks there’s an unnecessary amount of alarm in there.

“Uh.” He clears his throat. Beside him, Ellen just lifts her brows and starts edging away. “What’re you asking, now?”

“If I love two people the same amount, but I’d vastly prefer marriage with one over the other — is that a different kind of love, then?”

Bobby looks _incredibly _distraught.

“Aw, hell.” He rubs a hand down his face, sighing. “Yeah, boy, it is, but — but the thing is, you can’t.”

“What?”

Bobby shakes his head.

“I know you don’t – control your feelings, exactly, but try to get that outta yer head, alright?”

Cas frowns.

“What do you mean?”

“There’s some people you’re not allowed to love like that. I’m sorry. It ain’t fair — God knows you deserved a chance to make your own damn choices — but no good can come of it, alright?”

Cas swallows.

“What kind of love is it?”

Bobby gives him a sad look.

“That usually means you’re _in love, _son. But it ain’t a good thing, in this case. Things are what they are, and you best — give up now.” Bobby squeezes his shoulder, eyes as sympathetic as Cas has ever seen them, and Cas feels —

Disappointed. Painfully so.

He’s not sure why; Anna said he and Dean being in love with each other might make them unhappier. Even Bobby is counseling him to try and avoid the feeling, but Cas has only just now realized that he _is _in love with Dean. He has no idea how or why such a feeling developed, and he couldn’t even begin to know how to make it stop.

“How do I make it stop?” he asks bluntly, and Bobby shrugs.

“Lotta people wanna know that. All you can do is try. Uh — maybe don’t spend so much time together, for a bit?” he offers, and Cas recoils.

He tried not spending time with Dean last year, when he was afraid of his heat, and it was terrible. He doesn’t want to do it again.

Probably because he’s in love, he supposes. Didn’t Anna say that? Someone you want to live with and spend time with.

“That’s not fair,” he points out, a little petulant, and Bobby sighs.

“It ain’t. A lot o’ what happens to you ain’t. But you’ve got a lot o’ good things going for you, too, so — it is what it is.”

Cas crosses his arms, turning away.

“Thank you for your advice,” he says stiffly, but honestly, he’s already made up his mind not to follow it.

So what if he’s in love with Dean and he’s not supposed to be? Cas can keep a secret. He’s never told anyone about their wedding night, and even though Dean instructed the kitchens to put a limit on Cas’s weekly honeycake intake, Cas generally exceeds it. As soon as he very reasonably explained to Layla that Dean doesn’t account for all the extra training Cas has to do in the evenings, and that Cas hasn’t finished growing yet and he gets _very _hungry at night, she was kind enough to give him extra.

Dean still has no idea, though, because Cas is an excellent secret-keeper and an even better liar.

So regardless of what Bobby says — well, he’s going to spend as much time with Dean as Dean permits, and no one is going to stop him.

“You better hope John doesn’t find out,” he hears Ellen mutter, and Bobby groans.

“Never hear the goddamn end of it,” he grumbles, but Cas just sets his jaw and watches the gate finish opening.

John _won’t _find out, not unless Bobby tells him.

Cas may be in love with Dean, but no one else ever has to know.

The small arriving party filters through the gate, looking tired but well, and Cas steps forward.

“Hello,” he greets them, like Bobby and Ellen explained he was supposed to. “I am Prince Castiel of Lawrence. I welcome you on behalf of King John and the royal family.”

There are murmured greetings, heads ducking into bows, and Cas smiles.

“I’m sure you’d like something to eat and to rest, but I would be pleased to make the acquaintance of my sister’s rescuer?”

After a moment, a tall young lady steps forward, brown eyes curious beneath her hood as she eyes him.

“Prince Castiel,” she says, the ghost of a smile on her lips. “It was a pleasure to be of service to Anna. And a pleasure to meet the little brother I’ve heard so much about.”

“Not so little,” Cas objects, unable to help himself, and it’s as if the girl’s whole being relaxes, smile turning into a grin.

“Right. Of course not.” She extends a hand, in the way Lawrencians do, and Cas shakes it, still a little put out. “Well, still. Nice to meet you, Castiel. You can call me Valencia.”

Cas is extremely wary of being made fun of — it seems disproportionately entertaining to Dean — but Valencia’s eyes twinkle in such a friendly way he decides he probably shouldn’t be offended.

“Gladly. Welcome back home, Valencia.”

She tilts her head, eyes flicking to the castle behind him, and shrugs.

“We’ll see.”

She sounds a little doubtful, but that’s alright.

Valencia’s hand is warm, and the smile is still on her face, and she shot an arrow from twenty feet up a tree to stop his sister’s murder.

Cas has a very strong feeling she is now exactly where she belongs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * SPOILERS *  
Regarding the Dean/other: Cas has news from his sister that he wants to share with Dean immediately, and he forgets to knock before walking in. He briefly glimpses a blonde woman in the bed with Dean, and Dean, amused, reminds Cas he should knock, and promises to see him at dinner. Cas is surprised and upset, and Sam, who is with him, pulls him back and closes the door.


	5. Part V

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: Referenced Dean/other (see end notes for details), characters experience heats/ruts. Please let me know if I forgot something.

Sam is a wreck, and it is fucking _hilarious._

“So, um, do you like — sweet things?” he stammers out, and archer chick — Valencia, Dean supposes — tilts her head.

“Depends on the thing.”

“Oh, cool. Um, well, the blueberry muffins are _really _good.”

“Good to know. Honestly, it’s a muffin? So I probably would have tried one either way, but — good to know.”

Sam gets this super lame little smile on his face, and Dean coughs into his arm so it’s not obvious how hard he’s rolling his eyes.

To be fair, Valencia’s cute as hell. Dean would be all over that if not for the fact that a) Sam literally tripped down the hall steps on sight of her and b) he’d worry about someone thinking their asylum was dependent on such a thing.

He’ll have a talk with Sam later about that last bit, but Valencia looks as at ease as anybody who can kill you with a twitch of their bow-hand would be, so Dean’s not that worried.

Cas is bouncing a little next to him, and the moment everyone is served he clears his throat.

“Is Anna well? She didn’t lie in her letter, did she?”

Valencia blinks, fork pausing.

“I didn’t see the letter, so I can’t say about the lying — but she was very well when I left.”

Cas nods.

“There was a — Talbot woman, giving her trouble. How much trouble?”

Valencia nods slowly.

“Ah. Yes. Trouble. Bela was giving her a lot of . . . trouble.”

Cas looks dismayed, although Dean is super curious about the odd tone of voice this is said in.

“Will she be alright?”

“Probably,” Valencia assures him, smiling a little. “Nothing she would want her little brother to worry about it.”

At that, Dean chokes on his bite of stew, because he swears to God she’s suggesting —

“Oh. Well, Anna _is_ formidable. She’s sure to come out on top.”

“At least one of the times,” Valencia murmurs, Dean gaping at her, and then pops a chunk of potato in her mouth. “_Salt. _Bless you all.”

Sam gives her a curious look, and she shrugs.

“Lettrans don’t believe in seasoning their foods.”

“I thought you lived in the woods?” Cas says, and Valencia lifts her brows.

“I did. I also borrowed things from large, well-stocked country homes. Spices were not a part of that selection.”

“Huh.” Sam considers this. “You lived in the woods and you thought of stealing _spices_?”

Valencia scowls.

“I_ lived in the woods,_” she repeats darkly, and Sam snorts.

“Fair,” he says, and Dean will eat Bobby’s hat if the whole damn hall can’t see what’s happening here based on that sheepish little grin of his alone.

Whatever. It’s not really a problem, and even if it were, it isn’t _Dean’s _problem.

Dinner’s actually a lot of fun with their new guest; Dean’s only met the guy a few times, but Valencia’s Michael impression, just barely coaxed forth after Cas _insists _ he won’t be offended, has them all breathless with laughter. Apparently he came _in person _ to deal with the Purgaeans who _dared _make an attempt on a member of the Edenish Royal Family.

The Queen of Lettra was not impressed, since he’d made an excuse not to come himself in the first place.

Sam probably spends the last ten minutes of their meal clearly working up to something, and since Dean’s pretty sure that something is to offer to show Valencia the room she’ll be staying in, he smoothly beats him to the punch.

“Well, you must be tired, Val,” he says, flashing his most charming smile. Beside him, the honeycake Cas is not at all discreetly wrapping in his napkin tumbles right out onto the table, but Dean ignores it in favor of injecting just the right amount of suggestion into his next words. “I’d be happy to escort you to your chamber.”

She studies him, eyes curious.

“Sure. Thank you,” she says eventually, and the bitch-face emanating from Sam’s seat is everything he’s ever dreamed of.

Dean cheerfully waves them off, although Cas is _this close _to frowning at him when they say good-night, and he makes a mental note to see what’s up with that in the morning. For now, he just catches Valencia’s eye, letting his hand hover at her elbow, and when she nods, he links their arms and starts leading her to the stairs, glee in the very core of his soul.

Look, being a big brother is complicated.

“It’s very nice of you to show me to my chamber,” she remarks casually, and he gives her a sidelong glance.

“Well, it’s a big castle. Easy to get lost.”

“Mhm. And for whose benefit did you offer that, again?”

Dean lets out a startled laugh, though he supposes he was pretty obvious.

“Sorry,” he says, and he means it. “I hope you won’t be offended if I say it wasn’t yours.”

She gives him a strange look.

“No? It never crossed my mind that it was.”

Which is kind of weird, because then who else besides Sam—

“How old is your brother, by the way?”

Dean raises a brow.

“Someone has a good poker face,” he remarks. “Nineteen last May.”

She hums.

“Good to know.”

He smirks.

“Is it?”

Valencia just shrugs.

“Unlike a muffin, you can’t try it either way, so yup. Good to know.”

Dean beams at her.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m kind of glad you were forced to hide in the Lettran woods.”

She blinks.

“Thanks? I think? Although I’m pretty sure no matter what you mean, all the ways are wrong, but okay. Thanks.”

He moves his hand to her shoulder, giving it a friendly squeeze as they arrive at her door.

“Ring the bell if you need anything else.” He pauses. “Also, if you fuck with my brother, I _will _exile you to Eden, and you’ll have to wear a stupid hat all the time like all the other betas. Cool?”

She rolls her eyes, but they’re doing a cool, twinkly thing when they settle back on him.

“I will keep that in mind,” she says, very solemn. “Do you have an example hat for me to inspect? I think it’s only fair I understand my options.”

Dean squints at her.

“Good night, Valencia.”

She just smiles.

“Good night, Dean.”

Dean walks to his own chamber, pretty pleased.

He’s not always a big fan of change — wouldn’t hesitate to relegate her somewhere else, if he thought it’d be a problem — but all in all, he has a pretty good feeling about this one.

Two weeks after Valencia’s arrival, Anna comes to see Cas for his birthday, as promised.

His sister looks as well as he’s ever seen her, satisfying any lingering anxiety over the incident, and he’s surprised to see her greet him with a wonderful, warm hug before turning to Valencia and doing the same.

Even more surprising is how Valencia and Anna are in one another’s company. Cas loves his sister dearly and is fast becoming attached to Valencia, but he wouldn’t describe either of them as _easy _people; there is a reservation and quietness to them, despite the noteworthy strength of their personalities, and Cas is not expecting to see them fall into relaxed, affectionate banter, conversing with a casual comfort Cas has rarely ever seen with Anna.

Cas points this out to Sam one day, pleased by it (though he’s more sorry than ever that Anna must go back to Eden), but for some reason, Sam seems much less enthused.

Perhaps it’s because Sam doesn’t know Anna as well.

In any case, Cas enjoys both the visit and his birthday immensely. It’s so different than last year, when Anna couldn’t come and Dean was still away and Valencia wasn’t here at all; his rank performs a demonstration on the weekend, and after Cas has won his matches, he’s concerned to see Anna with her face buried in her handkerchief.

But then Dean touches her shoulder, and when she looks up, she’s grinning, saying something to him, and all is right with the world.

“You were _incredible,_” she tells him later, when they’re having tea and honeycakes in her room. “I just — I miss you so much, when I’m in Eden, but when I see what you’re achieving here, I — I’m so proud of you. And I’m so happy you came here.”

Cas beams back, soaking up the praise.

“Me, too. I wish you could be here all the time.”

Anna shakes her head.

“I doubt I could get away with it, but it’s a nice thought. It’s nice here.” She glances around the room, thoughtful. “You're happy, still, aren’t you?”

Cas nods.

“Very.”

“Dean is treating you well?”

He fights a sudden urge to blush.

“Very,” he repeats. “He trains me every day.”

“Devoted,” she comments, eyeing him with an unreadable expression.

And then, because it seems relevant —

“Just me.” He clears his throat. “It’s not — he doesn’t have to. But he does.”

“I see.”

Cas is tempted to tell her he’s in love with Dean, but he remembers what she said about unhappiness, and he doesn’t want to worry her.

“Although — did you know he ordered the kitchens to put a _limit _on what I could eat?”

Anna frowns.

“As hard as you train, that seems unfair.”

Cas nods vigorously.

“Dean has few faults, but this need to exert his will in these ways must be his worst.”

Anna still looks unhappy.

“You’re getting enough to eat, though, right?”

Cas blinks.

“Oh. It’s not — it isn’t _all _ food,” he explains reluctantly. “Just — I have a particular fondness for honeycakes, but for some reason he wants to torture me, so he told them I was only allowed a cert — why are you _laughing_?”

Anna neither stops laughing or explains, and Cas feels somewhat abused for it being his birthday.

Eventually, she settles down, smiling.

“And Val? She said she’s happy to be here, but I’m not sure I trust her to be honest.”

Cas _hopes_ she’s happy to be here.

“I think so. She is . . . often amused, and amusing. That’s a good sign, isn’t it?”

Anna narrows her eyes, considering.

“For most people. But not all.” She looks at Cas. “Keep an eye on her for me, will you?”

“Of course.”

Valencia is his friend now, after all.

Sadly, Anna departs at the end of September, giving everyone hugs and promising to write as soon as she’s returned, and Cas is sure he’s imagining Sam’s improved mood once she’s gone.

Speaking of Sam, though —

Cas is observing the _strangest _phenomenon.

Now that Valencia is here, Sam’s behavior is nothing short of _erratic. _The first few days, Cas is mildly concerned Sam has developed some disorder of the brain, because he often struggles to speak, or his sentences don’t quite make sense, and he has bouts of terrible clumsiness.

He suspects a circulatory issue, as well; Sam could be sunburnt, for all the time his face is red, and Cas notes a sudden lack of rhythm to his breathing at times.

But his condition improves, then disappears aside from the occasional relapse, so Cas mostly doesn’t worry. Though whenever it does flare up, he wonders if he should talk to Ellen about it.

A trouble that _does _linger is the fact that Dean insists on escorting Valencia to her chamber whenever Sam and Cas have to return to the barracks.

Sam is an extremely poor companion on their walks back on those nights, and it’s a relief when he starts pushing to spend more nights with the four of them hanging out in Dean’s room.

Which — as much as that’s preferable to Sam’s sullen silence, interspersed with incomplete questions of the “Do you think — ugh, never mind,” form, there’s something . . . _uncomfortable_ about it.

Cas likes Valencia, a _lot. _She’s been placed in a much lower rank than he, despite her significant archery abilities, but she comes to sit with him during breaks on the training field and eats lunch with him and Sam, and Cas is greatly enjoying this new addition to his life.

And yet.

He likes her a little less when they hang out in Dean’s room, or at dinner, when she and Dean engage in a playfully ridiculous back and forth Cas often doesn’t even understand. It’s as if they have a different conversation than their words would suggest, and in addition to driving Cas to extreme frustration, he can tell it upsets _Sam, _and he can’t help but think it’s un-brotherly of Dean to disregard him thus.

And on top of all _that, _ Dean talks to Valencia _differently. _ Dean gets this horrible smile, and he talks to her like Meg sometimes talks to Cas, with this — this — weird _voice, _a voice that’s amused and smooth and deep and makes the hair on Cas’s neck stand up and his stomach feel strange and — and —

And the point _is, _it makes Sam unhappy, for whatever reason, so it’s only reasonable that it should stop, isn’t it? Sam is Cas’s dearest friend, and he refuses to tolerate any harassment of him, intentional or otherwise.

With this just cause in mind, he determines to get Dean alone and address it.

But that’s much easier said than done.

Now that Valencia is here, Cas is effectively _never_ alone with Dean, and he _hates _it. Sam, in a characteristic act of generosity, offered to help Valencia catch up in other combat areas, and Dean invited them to come to the courtyard in the evenings where he can supervise everyone.

Not only that, but where Sam used to go back to the barracks without Cas, and Cas would just spend time with Dean until he fell asleep there, Sam now _always _stays if Cas is, and it usually ends up being the four of them, although Valencia sometimes declines to read under the tree or spend time in Dean’s room. Cas isn’t sure where she goes or what she does, but he suspects she’s sometimes a little overwhelmed by all the company.

Still, Cas never has time alone with Dean, and he only has marginally more time alone with Sam, and he’s deeply frustrated that he cannot arrange his time with _all _of these people exactly to his preferences.

In any case, it _is_ a lot of fun, most of the time — Cas loves Sam, of course, and Valencia is both a very amusing and strangely reassuring presence — but sometimes . . .

Sometimes, Cas just wants _one_ day, just once in a while, where there’s no one else but him and Dean.

Perhaps that’s what being in love means.

Regardless, in the end, it’s Sam that helps him.

They’ve reached the barracks after dinner, ready to say good night, when Sam squeezes his hand before he heads toward his rank’s building.

He leaves a rolled piece of paper behind, and once Cas is safely tucked in bed, he reads it.

_Tree by the kitchen gardens, after everyone’s asleep._

Curious, Cas tucks it under his pillow and waits a while, until he’s fairly certain his barrack-mates have all drifted off, and then he creeps out of bed and out the door.

If Sam wants to meet him, he’s not about to disappoint, although he’s not sure what they can do at this hour. It’s too dark to read, like they usually do, and they do need to sleep, but they can discuss it when Cas arrives.

To Cas’s surprise, there’s something underneath the tree when he arrives, a soft little glow coming from inside.

Sam’s head pops out of the front flaps as he approaches, and he grins.

“Hey, man. Come in. Don’t knock the candle over.”

Cas crouches, crawling inside where it’s much warmer, the ground soft where it’s covered by throws.

“Is this a tent?” he asks, delighted. He’s never been in a tent before.

“Yeah. Dean and I used to ‘camp’ around the castle. It’s fun.”

Cas has only been in here for a few seconds, but he already agrees.

“Why are we ‘camping’?” he asks, although he’s not about to complain. There’s a stack of books in the corner, and it looks like Sam has brought _two _pillows, extra blankets folded neatly beside them.

This is a _sleepover_, and Cas is ecstatic.

Sam shrugs.

“I don’t know? I thought it seemed pretty warm tonight, and it just — sounded nice. I’m, um, really glad Valencia is here, but I feel like I don’t get to spend as much time with just you or Dean anymore.”

Cas is both touched and relieved that Sam has these feelings, as well.

“I’ve been missing you, as well, Sam. This is a wonderful idea.”

Sam smiles, settling back in the nest-like floor of the tent.

“I brought honeycakes?” he says, and Cas lights up.

“Do you know Valencia thinks _muffins _are better?” Cas remarks, reminded of this absurdity as he eagerly accepts the first cake.

Sam looks intrigued.

“Yeah? She likes muffins?”

“It’s unreasonable,” Cas complains through a crumbly bite of cake. It’s a little rude, but Sam won’t mind. He probably won’t even get upset if Cas gets crumbs on the blanket, like Dean does.

“I mean — muffins are pretty good, Cas.”

“But there’s no honey in them.”

“You could put honey in them? Like — a honey muffin?”

Cas frowns.

“Isn’t that just a honey cake?”

Sam shrugs.

“Maybe? I don’t know. I’ve never made either one.” He pauses nibbling at his own cake, suddenly thoughtful. “Maybe I could make some muffins?”

“Valencia would like that,” Cas points out, and for some reason Sam looks startled. “She’ll probably help you. She was disappointed when she caught me on my way to the kitchen and I told her we didn’t have to sneak.”

“I’m sure Layla would let us bake muffins,” Sam protests, and then looks calculating. “But you think she’d want to help?”

“Probably. I could help, too,” he offers, although — “But if you want to spend time with just Valencia, I understand.”

There’s a sharp intake of breath.

“Um. Why, um, why do you think I want to do that?”

Cas squints.

“You don’t get to eat lunch with her and hang out together on the field like I do.” Sam has moved up in rank, and he trains on the other side of the castle, now. “I’m not sure why, but spending time with everyone all at once is different.”

Sam’s cheeks are a little red, but he looks relieved.

“Right. Yeah, that’s — that’s why.” He clears his throat. “You must miss Dean, too, then.”

Cas pauses, suddenly embarrassed for some reason.

“Yes,” he admits, and Sam shoots him a sympathetic look.

And then he lights up, a shy smugness to his expression before it quickly smoothes out.

“Hey, maybe Val and I could take some walks or, I don’t know, hang out sometimes. So you can have time with Dean,” he adds, like that wasn’t obvious, and Cas feels a rush of gratitude.

Sam is so _clever, _ and selfless_. _Cas is lucky to have a best friend like him.

“If you don’t mind.”

Sam shrugs, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Oh, um, it’s no problem. Anything for you, Cas,” he mumbles, and Cas can’t help himself. He crawls over, wrapping his arms around Sam and squeezing him like he’s seen Dean do.

Sam wheezes, then laughs, hugging Cas back.

“Actually, maybe you _don’t _need to spend more time with Dean.”

Cas pinches him, then sits back, examining the stack of books.

“I disagree,” he says with a smile. “But what did you bring me to read?”

Morning dawns bright and early, and Cas misses it entirely.

It’s not his fault; Donna supplied Sam with a new series, one that already had _three _books, freshly imported from Lettra, and the intricate tale of the underwater kingdom was too fascinating to put down. Sam sheepishly admitted to having already read the first one, and the pair of them were up until God knows when reading.

Unfortunately, this means that they sleep right through dawn, and part of breakfast, and are only awoken by the surprised squeak of one of the boys who works in the kitchen.

Cas startles awake with a grunt, blinking blearily at the abominably bright light streaming in through the crack in the flap. There’s already the sound of retreating footsteps, and Cas is incredibly vexed that someone had the nerve to disrupt his sleep when they apparently had no reason.

Sam shifts next to him, a chilly draft snaking in through the space left behind, and Cas just squirms after him, irrationally disapproving. Sam was keeping him warm, for heaven’s sake, and it’s just rude to roll away like that.

He’s just starting to drift away again, cheek nice and warm against the back of Sam’s tunic, when the flaps are abruptly thrown open.

“_Sam_!” Layla hisses, and Cas squints at her unhappily as Sam jerks upright, blinking tiredly at the light.

“Mm-wha?” he mumbles, and Layla sighs.

“You need to wake up and go to breakfast. I’ll have Inias take care of the tent for you, since the boy’s already gone and run his mouth off, but — anyway. What were you two _thinking_?”

Sam gives her a baleful look, clearly still trying to catch up.

“What? What’s wrong?”

“Neither one of you were in the barracks or at breakfast, which might have been fine, but Inias just went and told everyone you were canoodling in a tent.” She gives him a pained look. “I think your father is going to want to talk to you.”

“Shit,” Sam mutters, putting his face in his hands. “I thought I’d wake up in time.”

Layla just shakes her head, Cas looking confusedly between them.

“We’re fine,” he points out. “It’s not like the time outside the gate.”

Layla softens.

“I know, sweetheart. This is a little different, though.”

“What do you mean?”

She just shakes her head, catching Sam’s eye.

“I did what I could to tell the kitchen staff to keep quiet, but—”

Sam sighs.

“Yeah, no, I know. Thanks, Layla. Sorry about this.”

“I’m more sorry for you, Sam. Go get something to eat, alright? You’ll need your energy.”

Cas is deeply disturbed by that, but then Layla’s gone and Sam is hastening him out of the tent.

“I don’t think you’ll get in trouble. It was my fault, anyway.”

Cas gives him an alarmed look.

“But — we didn’t do anything wrong.”

Sam hesitates.

“Well, um. You left the barracks in the middle of the night.”

Cas frowns.

“But I was with you.”

Sam winces.

“Yeah, you were, weren’t you?” He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Come on, let’s go to breakfast.”

There’s a great deal of whispering by the time they enter the Hall, and Cas is more than a little disturbed by the fuss.

What’s more disturbing, though, is the fact that Dean isn’t present.

Cas has no idea what to make of that, and in searching out someone he might ask, he discovers Bobby is missing, too.

He’s wondering about both of these things, considering how late he and Sam are to breakfast, when John’s manservant appears just as he and Sam are getting settled in and informs Sam that his father wishes to speak with him.

Sam gulps, exchanging a glance with Cas.

“Right. I’ll, um. I’ll be back in a bit, or — or I’ll see you later, Cas.”

Sam hurries after the man, and the whole affair leaves Cas feeling too anxious to eat; after a moment, he simply decides to follow them.

It quickly becomes clear where their destination is. The doors to the council room are only open a crack, but yelling can be heard from within, and Cas is so shaken he nearly reveals himself as Sam and the manservant approach the door.

A hand tugs him down, behind an ornate plant stand, and Valencia presses a finger to her lips, brown eyes serious.

“How the hell did you let this happen?” John is shouting. “It’s not a difficult thing, and I told you _years _ago to fix this before it was a problem, yet _look where we are!”_

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Bobby shouts right back. “They were _kids, _still are, and you can’t just tell ‘em not to be friends with each o—”

“Oh, don’t start with that friendship bullshit again! They’re _not _kids, Bobby; they never were! They’re princes, and there’s rules they had better follow, and one of those rules is _not fucking their brothers-in-law_!”

Valencia’s brows fly up, and she gapes at Cas a little, a question in her eyes.

He just frowns. If she thinks _he _has any idea what’s going on, she’s about to be very disappointed.

“Oh, shut the hell up, you overreacting _dimwit. _They _are_ kids, damn it, and in love with each other or not, I’d bet your whole damn kingdom they’re not doin’ that. It’s a harmless sleepover, you ass—”

“_Harmless_? You think it’s _harmless _that _my entire goddamn castle _thinks my _heir, _the _fucking __H__ero of Lawrence, _not only can’t keep the interest of his own husband, but he can’t even keep him in line, either? The hell kind of king do you think that’ll make him?”

Cas stares at the door, at where Sam has gone rigid and even the manservant looks like he’d rather be anywhere but there, and he’s more confused than ever.

“Oh, for God’s sake, you damn fool—”

“And what do _you _have to say for yourself?” John thunders, cutting off, and Sam flinches, peering through the crack. “This is your fault, too, Dean.”

Cas listens in bewildered dismay. How is it Dean’s fault? _What _is it?

“All due respect, sir, but I think there’s been a misunderstanding—” Dean starts, and then there’s a loud thump.

“_I don’t fucking care_!” John bellows. “The _point, _is that you’ve made fools of the both of us, and the Edenish brat looks like a cheap tramp, to boot.”

“Hey, don’t—”

“_You _don’t talk back to me. You think this helps the people’s good will toward Eden? You think anyone will respect you when they doubt you know whether your own goddamn children are even _yours_? When your own brother—”

Sam suddenly throws open the door and rushes into the room.

“_Enough_!” he shouts. “Dad, _stop it. _It’s not — it isn’t Bobby’s fault and it’s not Dean’s fault and it sure as hell isn’t what you think it is!”

Valencia suddenly turns to Cas, looking very thoughtful.

“Cas,” she whispers. “Did you and Sam do something in a tent last night?”

Cas purses his lips, deeply upset, especially since the manservant has followed Sam in and shut the door completely.

“We had a sleepover,” he admits. “And we stayed up too late reading. But this seems — what is the king even _talking _about—”

Valencia cuts him off, shaking her head.

“I think this might be above our paygrade, my friend.” She loops her arm around his and tugs him upward, giving one last solemn, contemplative look to the doors. “Let’s go to breakfast.”

Cas would much rather stay put and try and figure out what’s happening, but Valencia’s grip on his arm is firm and he can’t quite make out all the words anymore, so reluctantly, he follows her back down.

He doesn’t have much of an appetite.

“What the _fuck _were you thinking?” Dean hisses, the minute Dad is done ranting (and slamming his fist down on the council table to punctuate every stupid-ass thing he has to say about the whole issue) and they’re excused.

Because as much as Dean _does _think it was all a stupid load of bullshit, it doesn’t change the fact that John actually has a good excuse for getting this angry.

Sam just sets his jaw, stubborn as ever, and god damn does Dean miss being young enough to think you’re impervious to _consequences._

“Cas is my _best friend,_” he says, and Dean’s no more impressed by it now than he was twenty minutes ago when Sam was pointlessly trying to make their Dad see reason. “If I want to spend time with him—”

“There’s _spending time _with him and then there’s spending the night together snuggling in a damn tent!” he snaps, furious. Even before John started in on him, Dean was fucking pissed. Sitting down to breakfast, wondering where the hell your little brother and husband are, because everyone you ask is telling you they weren’t in their beds that morning, only to find you shouldn’t have bothered worrying because they were _spooning in a goddamn tent _is a fucking _shit _way to start your day.

“We weren’t — I mean, fine, maybe we were snuggling a little, but it wasn’t — we’re not _like that. _You know that, Dean!”

“_Do _I?” he counters, although it’s a dick move. Sam’s not _that _good an actor, and he’s been tripping all over himself since Valencia got here.

Still, though. Being nineteen is weird. There’s no law that says he can’t, you know — explore more than one option.

“Are you ser—” Sam throws up his hands. “_Yes. _Yes, you _know _that.”

“Okay, fine, great. But — come _on, _Sam! You had to know how that would have looked!”

Sam just looks down, cheeks red.

“I — I didn’t think, Dean. You and I used to do that, and I don’t get to spend time with just Cas anymore, and it seemed like a good idea.”

“Yeah, well, I’m your brother.”

“So is Cas!”

“He’s not your _real _brother. He’s an unrelated and unmated omega, so when you spend a cozy night in a tent with him? It’s not brotherly bonding time, it’s a fucking romantic rendezvous, and _you should have known better._”

“I’m _sorry_! What do you _want _from me?”

“I want you to go back in time and not fuck this up for all of us! Never mind me, do you know what people are going to be saying about _Cas_? Come on, Sam, you know the rules!”

Sam deflates, and Dean almost wants to feel sorry for him, but —

“How do I fix this?”

Which — yeah, Dean’s been trying to figure _that _out all morning.

“No fucking clue.”

They’re silent for a moment, and Bobby coughs.

“Well, we better figure _somethin’ _out. John was talkin’ about you trying to produce an heir ASAP, and I had to point out how bad it would look if that happened too soon after this tent incident.”

Dean and Sam both shudder.

“Jesus, what a mess.”

“Yeah.”

Sam crosses his arms, sighing.

“This _sucks. _I shouldn’t have to fix this. Everyone _knows _Cas and I aren’t like that. I should be able to hang out with him whenever I want.”

And Dean can’t argue that — although if he’s being honest, he’s kind of wondering why he wasn’t invited to the sleepover — but Bobby’s got this weird look on his face and what the hell is up with _that_?

“Bobby?”

Bobby hesitates.

“Listen, Sam,” he starts. “I don’t know that it’s — well. As farfetched as ya might think.”

“Um, what is?” Sam asks, and he looks as confused as Dean feels.

Bobby clears his throat.

‘I know _you _just wanna spend time with a friend, not to mention you’re a perfect idjit around that new girl, but these things ain’t always a two-way street.”

“What?” Sam says.

“What?” Dean echoes.

Bobby just sighs.

“I’ve got reason to believe maybe Cas _is _— y’know. Harborin’ some feelings. And I’m sure he’ll grow out of ‘em,” he adds hastily. “But maybe John’s right. You oughta be more careful.”

They both just stare at him, because — _really_?

Has Dean been so busy yanking Sam’s chain about the whole Valencia thing he actually managed to miss something like _that_?

“Uh. I don’t think—” he starts, Sam still in shocked silence beside him, and Bobby holds up a hand.

“Sorry, Dean,” he says bluntly. “He as good as told me he’d rather be married to Sam.”

Dean shoots right past ‘surprised’ and ‘disturbed’ and straight into —

Fuck, he doesn’t know what, but he sort of feels like he just got shoved into a snowbank. One that a herd of wild horses is about to go running over.

Even though horses don't run as well in snow like that; he guesses they could be magical horses, like Cas sometimes reads about.

When he’s with Sam.

Who he’d rather be married to.

Bobby snaps his fingers in front of his face.

“Dean,” he barks.

“Are you — did he really —”

“There’s no way,” Sam interjects, and _thank you. _Dean would ask why on earth Cas would rather be married to Sam, but since he can actually think of a lot of reasons, he’d prefer not to.

Still — even if he can think of some very good reasons — he doesn’t _not _try to be a good husband to Cas. Maybe he could be trying harder, but — but honestly, when he’s with Cas, he just kind of — they’re together, right? And it’s nice.

Or Dean _thought _it was nice, but maybe Cas is just counting the seconds until Sam comes back.

And as much as that fucking stings, Dean — he’s being unreasonable, isn’t he? Cas’s puppy-love for Sam is a whole different ballgame, namely because Sam is close to Cas’s age and he’s sensitive or some bullshit and he sets up romantic tent dates, but — but —

Dean has no clue. He just thinks, you know, even if it didn’t occur to him to think of it before, that if Cas was going to fall in puppy-love with somebody around here . . .

Well, it wouldn’t be Sam.

That’s all.

“I think you must have misunderstood,” Sam says slowly, and Dean nods fervently, hopeful.

Bobby shakes his head.

“I know it’s uncomfortable for you, Sam, but it is what it is, and you best keep it in mind.” He sighs. “I should’ve talked to you about it sooner. Mighta avoided this whole mess.”

Sam just goes very quiet, unhappy and contemplative, and honestly, Dean kind of does the same.

So Cas is in love with Sam. Enough that he wishes he weren’t married to Dean.

Well, too bad for him, but he can’t have Sam. He can’t have anybody, really, not until he and Dean have kids, and as bad as Dean feels about that, there’s nothing he can do.

On the _other_ hand . . . maybe there _is._

Dean abruptly stands up and heads for the kitchens.

When lunchtime rolls around, Cas is immensely relieved to see Sam come striding onto the field.

“Come sit, Sam,” he calls, and Sam flashes a strained smile, glancing around the courtyard before coming to a stop a few feet away.

“Hey, guys. I just have a minute, Garth is distracting Bobby for me, but—”

“Why the distraction?” Valencia interrupts, openly curious.

Sam clears his throat.

“I’m — I’m not supposed to talk to Cas for a little while?”

Cas draws back, shocked.

“What? But — and how long is a ‘little while?’”

Sam hesitates.

“I don’t know.”

Valencia hums, inspecting him thoughtfully.

“You know what? Why don’t you sit down, Sam?”

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea — mostly I wanted to tell Cas to meet me la—”

“I really think you should sit down,” she says firmly. “It’s a good idea. I am full of good ideas right now.”

Sam opens his mouth, then shuts it, and then finally, plunks down next to Valencia.

She smiles at him.

“Here goes nothing,” she says, and to Cas’s surprise, leans over and kisses him full on the mouth before pulling back and offering him a carrot.

Sam is perfectly still, eyes wide and face rapidly turning red, and after a moment, he swallows.

“Um. Um, so is this like — I mean — do I get the stick later, then?”

Valencia snorts, the rest of the field buzzing with whispers, and rests her forehead against his shoulder.

“I have no idea, Sam. I guess we’ll see.”

Cas nibbles at his sandwich, watching them with great interest, and for some reason, he can’t quite hold back a smile.

Around them, the whispers grow.

They’re walking to dinner, having ended up with plenty of time to sneak off to the library and read (apparently the tree isn’t a good place right now, for some reason) because Dean is busy with something or other, when Sam speaks.

“Hey, Cas — can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“Are you in love with me?”

Cas gives Sam a strange look.

“No?” Has he given Sam a reason to think he is? He’s only just figured out that he’s in love with Dean, but the concept is still something of a puzzle to him, so he supposes he would have no idea if he had.

He does like to spend a good portion of his day with Sam, and he certainly wouldn’t mind living with him. Perhaps he gave him the wrong impression.

On the other hand, Sam seemed very pleased about Valencia kissing him.

But Anna _did _say you could want to do things like that with people you didn’t love, and —

And Cas stops short, because dinner can wait.

He’d forgotten that part of the conversation entirely, and now that he thinks of it —

Does Cas want to do those things with _Dean_?

His first instinct is _no, _because he’s already thought about this and determined he doesn’t, which would suggest he might _not _be in love with Dean.

But the assertion feels not-quite-right in his head, and Sam is giving him a funny look, and for some reason, pursuing the thought makes him nervous, so he shakes his head.

“No, I’m not in love with you, though I do love you very much.”

Sam nods, looking pleased, and almost a little smug.

“Yeah. That’s what I thought.”

“I might be in love with Dean, though,” Cas adds, wondering if Sam might have any input on this, and Sam’s mouth falls open, head snapping around to stare at Cas.

But then a small smile and the smug look return.

“Actually, I was pretty sure about that, too,” he says, and Cas is startled to find himself pleased by the news.

Anna said being in love would probably make him unhappier, and yet Cas doesn’t really like the idea of not being in love with Dean, after all.

It doesn’t make any sense.

“How did you know?” he asks, curious, and Sam shrugs.

“I don’t know. Sometimes you can just — tell.”

Cas frowns, looking down at his palms, wondering what things he’s doing, things he doesn’t even realize, that tell Sam this.

“Does Dean know?”

Sam snorts.

“Nah. He has way too many blind spots.”

Cas feels a little relieved.

It should be fine, for Dean to know that, but the idea makes Cas’s face feel warm and his head light.

After all, Dean _loves _Cas, but he no doubt would have said if he was _in love _with him. This is something Cas can just — keep to himself, and maybe the unhappiness won’t get them if he’s the only who feels this way.

That sounds nice.

“Don’t tell him,” Cas says seriously, and Sam nods.

“I won’t. Honestly, I don’t know if he’s ready to hear that.”

“Ready? What do you mean?”

He shrugs.

“Dean . . . he — he’d never want to do the wrong thing, you know? And right now, this’ll probably feel like the wrong thing.”

Cas considers this for a long moment, and decides he must be right.

Dean is probably afraid of being unhappy, too, and because he’s a good person — because he’s so good to _Cas _— he probably doesn’t want Cas to be unhappy either.

“I understand,” he tells Sam, nodding. “It’ll just be a secret.”

“Are you okay with that?”

Cas tilts his head.

“Why wouldn’t I be? I don’t think it makes a difference, does it?”

“I mean — I guess not? If it doesn’t make a difference to you?”

Cas shrugs.

“It’s not new, Sam. I admit that I don’t know any— that is, _as much_ about these things, so I wasn’t able to figure it out, but this explains some things I was confused by. I’m satisfied.”

Sam nods slowly, smiling a little.

“Okay. Cool.” They’ve reached the steps to the hall, and he hurries up them, pushing the door open. “Let’s see if Valencia’s plan worked, then.”

Cas is, to be honest, still a little unclear on _what _her plan was, or even _why _everyone was quite so upset this morning, but he’s hopeful nonetheless.

Curiously, Valencia slides her hand over Sam’s when he sits down, squeezing it before she starts to serve herself. Cas continues to have questions about this, as well as the kiss from earlier. Is this the recreational kind of kissing? Or are Sam and Valencia in love now?

And — if Cas is in love with Dean, should he be kissing _him_?

On the one hand, he thinks Anna said ‘not always’ in either direction, but he can’t quite remember, and since the fact remains that at no point has it occurred to Cas to kiss anyone, that must mean he probably _doesn’t _want to —

“Cas?”

Cas blinks, turning automatically, and there’s Dean’s green eyes, looking at him with a great deal of concern.

Unbidden, Cas’s gaze flicks down to his mouth, wondering.

Would he — _could _he — what would it even —

“Uh, Cas?”

Cas swallows.

“Yes?”

“Are you okay?”

Cas can feel his face warming. He feels — well, embarrassed.

Why?

“Yes. Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Uh. Uh, well, because —” Dean frowns, then sighs. “Never mind. We can talk about it later.”

Dean picks up Cas’s plate and starts scooping various things onto it, although he seems preoccupied, staring hard at the other side of the table where Sam and Valencia are conversing quietly, the slight frown still on his face.

Cas doesn’t like Dean frowning. Like most people, Dean is best when he’s smiling, although if Cas is being perfectly honest, Dean smiling is better than _anyone _smiling.

He fights the strange urge to touch his fingers to that frown, to gently push the corners back to rights.

“Thank you,” he says, and Dean softens a little when he turns back to Cas.

“Sure. And, uh. I got a — a surprise for you. When you’re finished with that.”

Cas perks up. A _surprise_? He’s mostly not averse to surprises, and since Dean doesn’t play a fraction as many pranks on Cas as he does on Sam, this is probably a good one.

Cas’s birthday is past and Christmas is still far away; what could he have done to be earning surprises?

He eats a little too quickly, eager to find out, and when he has a few bites left, Dean excuses himself.

Only to come back a few minutes later with — a pie?

Cas nearly rolls his eyes. Of course Dean’s idea of a random surprise would involve something _he _enjoys.

Still — Cas rather likes pies, too, so he’s not about to complain. He’s not sure it qualifies as a surprise, though. There’s a few pies already on the table, after all.

“So, uh,” Dean starts, setting this one down in front of Cas’s plate. “I was thinkin’, you know, you like honeycakes so much, right? But maybe you should — I dunno. Branch out from them. I mean, I know they’re your favorite, but — but they’re actually the only, uh, honey thing you’ve tried, so maybe — and it’s okay if you hate this, it’s not a big deal, but you could — you could try it? Maybe you’ll like it just as much — or — or better, even.”

Cas blinks, staring at the pie and wondering what he’s missed.

He’s not the only one, Charlie and Jo’s conversation halting next to him.

“Jealous,” Charlie murmurs lightly, although Cas is sure she’ll be welcome to have some.

Still, he’s very confused.

“What?” he asks.

Dean clears his throat.

“Right. This, uh. This is a honey apple streusel pie. With extra honey. I went to see Layla today and — anyway, it’s not an established recipe, so it might suck, but here’s what we came up with, so . . . yeah.”

Cas stares at it.

A — a _honey _pie?

“I want to try it,” he says, glancing back at Dean meaningfully, and Dean sort of smiles before stepping forward to cut into it, depositing the piece on Cas’s plate and sitting back down, watching.

It smells _divine. _The combination of honey and pie crust is mouthwatering, and Cas fervently hopes it tastes just as good.

He makes sure to get a bite with crust, apple, and plenty of browned streusel topping, then brings the fork to his mouth.

“Oh,” he mumbles, though it’s rude to talk with your mouth full, because —

It’s _incredible._

He can taste the honey around the apples, in the crust, clumping with the streusel, sticky and sweet and offset by the butter and brown sugar and tart fruit.

“Is that — is it good?”

Cas is pretty sure he is in love with Dean, but he may be in love with this pie, instead, because he’d like to have it with him always.

“Yes. Yes, it’s — it’s _so good, _Dean,” he says, forcing himself to look away from the pie. Dean looks delighted.

“Yeah?”

“Aren’t you going to have some?”

“I dunno, if it’s anything like the honeycakes, you’ll be trying to smuggle the whole damn thing back to y—_ow._”

Cas pointedly takes another bite while Dean rubs his arm. It serves him right; Cas knows for a fact that Dean keeps snacks around, too.

After a moment, Dean serves himself a slice — the rest of the table declines, exchanging almost _amused _looks with each other, even though Cas tries to convince Charlie it’s alright — and the pair of them eat in silence.

Cas has two more slices, because Dean strongly indicated the pie was for him and it would be very . . . unhusbandly, probably, to apply restrictions to a gift.

“So, um, I think I’ll walk Val back to her room tonight,” Sam says, as everyone has begun saying good-night and trekking back to their rooms/barracks. Cas pauses on the second to last bite of pie.

“Doesn’t Dean usually do that?” Although Cas is weirdly pleased that he won’t be, this time. “Oh — are we staying in the castle, tonight?”

“Nah, I didn’t get enough sleep last night. I’ll head back to the barracks after, if you want to wait for me?”

“Alright.” Hopefully it won’t take very long. Cas is a little tired, too.

Once Sam and Valencia have wandered off, Dean turns to him. He doesn’t say anything though, just sort of studies Cas, traces of concern back in his face.

“Are you going to sleep, now?” Cas asks, though he’s curious about Dean’s expression.

Dean doesn’t answer him, just looks at him a little longer. Cas looks back, waiting.

“Hey — why don’t you sleep in the castle tonight?”

Cas draws in a breath. It’s been forever since Cas stayed in the castle when Sam _wasn’t, _and since Valencia has already gone to her room, she’s unlikely to be there either.

“Okay.” Tired or not, Cas will stay up if it means he gets to spend some time with Dean.

Dean finally smiles.

“Yeah, okay. I’ll go send for some baths, if you wanna let Sam know.”

Which —

Cas blinks.

“Oh. Didn’t — didn’t you — already?”

Cas has never bathed with _just _Dean before, but there’s not really a good reason to refuse, not when he shares the room with Sam, or both of them, nowadays.

“Nah, I was workin’ on the pie.”

“Oh. It. Uh. It was wonderful.”

“I thought so, too,” Dean says, looking a little smug, and Cas tries his best to look disapproving, although he’s suddenly wondering if he can talk Sam into staying, after all.

But then Sam will probably stay all the way until bedtime, and though he’ll go to his room when it’s time to sleep, Cas doesn’t want to be _unconscious _for the entire time he has Dean to himself.

“Anyway,” Dean continues. “I’ll see you in a bit, okay?”

“Okay,” Cas agrees, desperately trying to subdue his pounding heart, and Dean squeezes his shoulder before heading off.

Cas is still sitting there, staring at nothing, when Sam returns.

“Ready?” he asks, and Cas slowly shakes his head.

“Actually, I’m — I’m going to spend some time with Dean, tonight.”

Sam looks a little curious, but he shrugs, smiling.

“Awesome. Have fun. I’ll see you at breakfast?”

Cas hesitates.

“I — he’s ordering baths,” he manages, distressed, and Sam’s smile slips a little.

“Yeah?”

“I don’t know why, but it’s — it’s different. Than with you.”

Sam huffs, faintly amused.

“Yeah, that makes sense. Um — you could ask to just — bathe separately?”

“Won’t he think that’s strange?” _Cas _thinks that’s strange. He has no idea why it should be different, but it definitely is.

“Maybe, but if you’re uncomfortable—”

“I—I’m sure I’ll be fine. I don’t even know _why _I’m uncomfortable,” he complains, and Sam snorts.

“Yeah, that — it kind of goes with the territory. When you like someone like that — or, well, if you’re in love with them — pretty much _everything _can be uncomfortable,” he mutters.

Well, as long as it’s normal, Cas supposes, although — he’d hate for _everything _to be uncomfortable.

“Do you want me to stay?” Sam offers, and Cas hesitates.

“No. No, it should be okay.”

Sam nods, studying him, and must be satisfied with whatever he sees.

“Well, then — night, Cas. I’ll see you. If Dean embarrasses himself, tell me about it at breakfast.”

“How would he—”

Sam winks, and scoots off toward the door, leaving Cas to make the walk back to Dean’s room alone.

The baths will probably already be there, he thinks, and the back of his neck feels hot even though he’s nowhere near the water. Sam took a rather long time to walk Valencia to her door. They must have talked a little.

Perhaps they talked about the kissing.

Cas tries not to think about kissing Dean. He doesn’t want to, after all. Thinking about it just invites unnecessary trouble, since it’s neither a thing he wants or a thing that would be happening for any reason.

Still, Cas keeps catching his thoughts drifting to Dean’s mouth as he makes his way up the stairs. How it looks in a frown, like earlier, how much he loves it in a smile. How it catches between his teeth sometimes, when he’s thinking, or how he wets it when it’s dry, tongue sweeping across the soft-looking skin.

He wonders what it looks like in a _kiss_, and the thought feels somehow dangerous, so Cas shoves it away and hurries down the hall to his room.

Dean isn’t in the bedroom, which means that Cas must have taken too long, that Dean must have already started his bath, and now Cas will have to either undress in front of him or walk past him to get to the tub and oh, God, none of this should be a problem at all and _why is it_?

_Annoyed_ in addition to being embarrassed, Cas ruthlessly strips off his clothes and stalks into the bathroom. It’s an effort not to hunch over in an attempt to cover himself, but he stands straight and plunks into the water with a defiant splash.

And then he steals a glance at Dean, who snorts and opens his eyes, because apparently they’ve been shut, because _apparently_ he wasn’t paying any attention at all.

Cas feels extremely foolish.

“It’s not a swimming hole, man; don’t hurt yourself.”

Cas huffs.

“Obviously I can’t swim in it.”

“Sounds like you tried to _dive _in it.”

“Shut up, Dean,” Cas mutters, aggressively lathering the washcloth.

There’s a long silence.

“Sorry,” Dean says quietly, and Cas pauses, unable to stop himself from looking over again.

This time, though, Dean _is _staring at him, brow furrowed, and Cas compulsively sinks into the water.

“About what?” he tries not to squeak, which shouldn’t be difficult, given that Dean comments every other week about how deep his voice has gotten, and _yet_—

“Uh. Teasing you? This — it’s probably not a good night for that,” he says, finally glancing down and rubbing his neck. “You, uh. You probably had a — a long day.”

Cas sighs. It _has _been very dramatic.

“Well, it’s over now. And . . . I did have a very delicious pie.”

Dean meets his eyes again, searching, and then smiles.

“It was pretty good pie.”

“Yes.”

“A genius idea.”

Cas narrows his eyes.

“I’ve said on numerous occasions that honey improves the taste of almost any sweet. I think that makes _me _the genius.”

“Yeah, whatever. You still didn’t think of putting it in _pie._”

“Shut up, Dean,” Cas says again, and looks away so he won’t be tempted to smile back.

And then Dean has the nerve to _flick water _at him, and Cas has no choice but to look back, appalled.

Dean grins.

“Make me.”

How _dare _he.

Cas dunks his washcloth in the water and throws it at Dean.

“Hey!” Dean yelps, dodging, and the washcloth lands on the other side of the tub with a wet slap. “Not cool, buddy. I hope you’re planning on cleaning that up.”

“You started it,” Cas sniffs.

Dean hums.

“Ah, but now you have no washcloth.”

Which — is a good point.

Cas glances around forlornly, but the bath had already been set up for him, so the washcloths are in a little cabinet beneath the counter.

Dean has the nerve to start laughing.

“Dude, your _face _— it’s a washcloth, not a plate of honeycakes.”

“But how am I supposed to _wash_?”

“Uh, get another one?”

“But then I’ll have to—” _walk past you, _he nearly says, but bites it back, sure he’s turning red. “It’s — I’ll be cold.”

There’s a long pause, and then Dean sighs.

“Damn brat,” he mutters, and then — and then —

And then _Dean stands up._

Which would be fine except people bathe naked and Dean is naked, as in not wearing _any _clothes, and Cas is — Cas’s whole brain is just —

Cas shuts his eyes and sinks into the water as far as he’ll go, trying to block the image out and baffling fixated on it at the same time.

But _why_? Of _course _people are naked at bath time; whenever Cas bathes at the barracks, there’s plenty of other people around, and it’s _fine. _Cas doesn’t look or have any desire to look and if he chances to see something, it’s just a _body._

Is this like how he and his barrack-mates can train shirtless in the summer, and Cas doesn’t notice, but when Dean does it in the courtyard, he can’t help but — be _aware_?

There’s a rustling sound, and then Cas hears wet footsteps approaching, and then there’s just the barest hint of warmth emanating at his side.

_Don’t look, _he tells himself, keeping his eyes shut.

“Cas?” Dean asks, and oh — that — Dean must be _right next to him._

“Yes?”

Something soft gets set on his head, and Cas makes the mistake of cracking an eye open.

To his relief, there is now one corner of a washcloth obscuring Dean from view.

“Brought you a new one,” Dean says, voice strangely soft, despite his teasing a moment ago.

“Th-thank you,” Cas stammers out, but he doesn’t hear Dean move to leave.

Finally, he can’t help himself. He reaches up, brushing the cloth aside, and finds Dean’s arms folded across the edge of the tub, Dean watching him.

Rowena lectured him on _combustion, _once.

Cas wonders if it’s about to happen to him.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Dean asks, and Cas wonders what’s showing on his face that would prompt this sudden, gentle worry.

“Yes.”

Dean nods slowly.

“Aren’t you cold?” Cas asks, a little desperate, and Dean shrugs.

“Yeah.” He lingers a moment longer. “You, uh. You did good today.”

Cas frowns.

“We didn’t train.”

“Yeah, no, I know, but — I just. I know it must’ve been rough. But, uh. You were a real good friend to Sam, okay? And I think you should, you know. Feel . . . good about that.”

Personally, Cas thinks he’s a good friend to Sam _every _day, but he supposes it’s nice of Dean to say so.

Still, that’s not why he does it.

“Sam’s a very good friend to me.”

Dean looks weirdly pained.

“Sure. That, uh. That doesn’t — make it easier, though.” He swallows, and then reaches out, brushing back the damp ends of Cas’s hair. “But — it does get easier, alright?”

Cas’s skin feels far hotter than the tub water should account for.

He has no idea what Dean is talking about, but Dean is close and unclothed and Cas is thinking about his great-uncle who died in the bath from a heart attack and marveling that he never thought to ask who _caused_ it.

“Okay,” he manages, just barely, and finally, Dean nods.

Cas shuts his eyes again the moment Dean stands, and only when he hears the sound of Dean resettling does he open them.

He doesn’t say a word for the rest of the bath.

Cas is being very quiet, and Dean’s worried about it.

Maybe he shouldn’t have said anything. He’d had Cas almost laughing, for a second there, but Cas had seemed a little gruff and cranky, and Dean knew this thing with Sam and Valencia must be weighing on him.

Honestly, he’s a little pissed at Sam. Bobby _told _him, this very morning, how Cas felt, and then Dean gets to dinner and finds the hall full of whispers about Sam and Valencia’s training field kiss hello, and he kind of wanted to throttle him.

And sure, he gets it, gets going public with whatever he and Valencia apparently have going on, because Dean was also privy to a lot of unsubtle conversations in which people were suddenly very sure that Cas wouldn’t do that to Prince Dean, and that even if he would, he and Sam aren’t anything like that and this makes so much more sense —

But still. Even if it kind of saves their asses, especially since Cas is putting on such a brave face about it, it still means that Cas’s heart is probably breaking right now.

And if Sam were as good a friend as Cas seems to think he is, he — he’d do something about that.

Of course, even Dean acknowledges that there’s nothing Sam _can _do. This was doomed from the start, however it went, and no matter how bad Sam feels, Cas’ll have to move on one way or the other.

Still. Cas looked vaguely panicked earlier, when Dean finally brought it up, and now he’s quiet and subdued. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out why. Soldier’s stoicism or not, Cas is hurting, and he’s gotta let it out somehow.

Dean dries Cas’s hair for him, like he always does, although Cas flinches a little at the first touch of the towel. He’s clearly on edge, and Dean aches for him. When he was a little younger than Cas, this girl, Cassie, visited as part of a group of scholars from the northern kingdom, and Dean fell head over heels for her. Two weeks later, she had to go, and although Dean offered to send her letters, she told him there wasn’t really a future for them.

She was right, of course, and they were both kids, but at the _time, _Dean had been devastated.

And given how attached Cas is to Sam — this isn’t a sudden, random crush on someone new and exciting — it must be even _worse._

Cas has relaxed a little by the time Dean is finished, unable to stop himself from setting the towel aside and carding his fingers through Cas’s damp, fluffy hair.

Sue him. Cas has been rejected; he could use a little affection right now.

And Dean must be right, because after a moment of tensing, Cas just kind of exhales and lets his head loll against Dean’s hand.

Part of Dean says this is kind of weird, petting Cas’s hair and running his fingers along his scalp like this, but most of Dean is pretty sure that if Anna were here right now, she’d totally be doing something like this for him, too, so it’s fine.

Besides, it’s kind of soothing for Dean, too, and when Cas’s eyes have shut and Dean’s are drooping, too, he draws his hands away, touching Cas’s shoulder.

“C’mon. Bed,” he instructs, and Cas blinks at him a few times before slowly turning himself, scooting back to his side of the bed and crawling under the covers.

He takes up a lot more space than he used to, that’s for sure.

Dean puts out the candles and slips in next to him.

“Oh,” Cas mumbles. “I thought we’d spend some time together before we went to sleep.”

Dean pauses, wishing he could see Cas’s face.

“Yeah?” He tries to keep his tone light, but open. “Did you have something you wanted to talk about?”

There’s a pause.

“No. But — we don’t, lately. Spend time together, I mean.”

Dean could point out that he practically has a party in here a few times a week, but the thing is, he knows what Cas means.

It’s kind of nice, that Cas noticed, too. Dean figured he was probably just excited to spend time with so many friends, and especially in light of maybe viewing his marriage to Dean as an impediment to finding happiness with Sam, Dean just assumed . . .

On the other hand, he and Cas are friends, too, aren’t they? And Cas could probably have used someone to talk to about this messy business with Sam.

And as weird as that might have been for Dean, he still owed it to Cas to be there for him.

Guilt gnaws at him, and he acts on instinct, reaching out and tugging Cas toward him.

“Oh — uh — what —” Cas starts, and Dean shifts, wrapping around him a little. “W—what are you doing?”

“Giving you a hug,” Dean mutters.

There’s a long silence.

“Why?” Cas whispers, and Dean sighs. Always with the questions, this one.

“’Cause you deserve one. And — listen, I know things are gonna be hard for a while, but I meant what I said earlier. It’ll get easier. And — and I’m here, okay?”

Not that that probably makes Cas feel any better, but look, it’s all Dean’s got right now.

Cas is silent for so long Dean almost wonders if he fell asleep, but the tense weight in his arms suggests otherwise.

“Thank you,” he finally says, and after another pause, shifts, turning around so his face is sort of buried in Dean’s chest, hands loosely fisting in his sleep shirt. “I’m glad you’re here, Dean.”

Oh. Like — this isn’t about Dean, but you know. That’s nice.

Anyway, Dean’s glad he can be here, if it helps.

He gives Cas a squeeze.

“Yeah. Night, Cas.”

Cas sighs, finally relaxing.

“Good night, Dean.”

And sure, Cas might be in love with Sam and there might be a long, painful recovery from that –— but Dean _is _here, and he’s going to do whatever he can to help.

Dean is being _incredibly _nice to Cas, and as much as Cas is enjoying that — far more than he probably should — he has no idea why.

And Dean is always nice to Cas — Cas is sure there’s never been a better husband, even if Dean can be a little overbearing sometimes — but this is excessive.

Dean has started coming to walk Cas to breakfast _every single morning. _Several times a week, at dinner, the kitchens will have put out some new honey-flavored dessert, which Dean eagerly presents him with the moment he’s done eating. While he’s always been happy to listen to Cas talk about books, or allow him access to his personal shelves, he’s now taken to _bringing _Cas things to read, and hovering around him in the library when Cas visits on weekends.

As for training — Dean has always made it clear when Cas is doing well, but now it’s as though he’s being especially careful to _tell_ Cas, with specific words. And after training, he’ll frequently put his arm around Cas and tell him how great he did.

Cas feels vaguely superhuman when this happens.

And because Sam, true to his word, often spends separate time with Valencia, Cas now has plenty of time alone with Dean.

Most alarming — and if Cas is being honest, pleasant — Dean is — well, he’s _touching _Cas a lot. He’s always ruffled Cas’s hair or squeezed his shoulder on occasion, just like he does to Sam, but it feels like it’s happening twice as often. And then there are _hugs. _It’s not like Dean has never hugged him, of course, and it’s sure to happen on holidays, but on a regular basis, he doesn’t even hug Sam.

But Dean hugs Cas at least once a week, now. The first time Sam and Valencia decline to join them in Dean’s room, opting to take an evening walk Cas would have accompanied them on if not for the fact that Dean clearly wouldn’t be, Dean toweled off Cas’s hair after his bath and then gave him a frankly wonderful hug, asking how he was doing.

Cas is pretty sure Dean has _always _cared whether or not Cas was doing well, but he’s asking a lot more often, lately.

As a result of all these things, Cas is doing _extremely _well, but Dean always looks doubtful when he says as much.

Which somewhat puts a damper on Cas’s enjoyment of his good fortune, because it’s rapidly becoming clear that Dean —

Dean seems to think there’s something _wrong _with Cas.

“Am I sick?” Cas asks Ellen, when he and his barrack-mates go for their annual checkups.

Ellen pauses, where she’s noting his five feet and eight inches in her ledger.

“Doesn’t look like it. Why, you feelin’ bad?”

Cas hesitates.

“No, I don’t think so. I just — Dean’s been very nice to me, lately.”

Ellen considers him, standing up and coming to sniff the air around him.

“Uh-huh. Think you might be gearin’ up for another heat, soon,” she remarks, and Cas freezes. “Alphas and Betas’ll be nicer to you the few days leading up, usually. It’s an instinct thing. Omegas, too, sometimes.”

Cas would explain to her that Dean’s been excessively considerate of him for more than a month now, but he’s too preoccupied with his apparently impending heat to remember.

He sniffs himself anxiously.

“How can you tell?”

“Other people probably can, too, but at this point, it’ll be more sub-conscious. As a doctor, I’ve been trained to specifically look out for that kinda stuff, though.”

Cas’s heart sinks. He’s not sure what he expected, but it’s now been over a year since that last, terrible heat, and though logically he _knew _he would have another one eventually . . .

Some part of him thought that was a good sign.

Ellen pats him on the head.

“This is a good thing, actually. Your heats’ll probably stabilize, soon. The more volatility while they get there, the less warning you get, so the fact that I can scent it now — that you seem to be workin’ up to it — that’s promising.”

Cas swallows.

“Does this mean it won’t be as bad?”

Ellen gives him a sympathetic look.

“Probably be worse, hon.”

“How can it be _worse_?” he whispers, and she sighs.

“Nature’s a bitch like that. Your heats settling mean your body’s gettin’ to where it’s goin’, so to speak. You’re reachin’ maturity, from a physical standpoint. But you’ll be okay,” she adds, catching his eye. “Like I told you last time. It’s all normal. You’re gonna be just fine. You’re gonna take a break from training for a day or two, read some books, eat as many honeycakes as you want, and as soon as things have settled a little, you can get back out to the field during the lulls, and before you know, it’ll be over. Alright?”

No. No, it is _not _alright, but by this point, he knows there’s nothing he can do.

“Alright.”

“Okay. Come see me when you start feelin’ like you have a fever, alright? And send the next kid in.”

Cas nods, hopping off the examination table and departing, stomach like lead.

Still, he tries to tell himself, nodding Alfie in — maybe Ellen doesn’t realize how awful it was, last time.

Maybe this time _will _be better.

It’s not better _at all._

Cas starts feeling _off _about halfway through the next training day, and Bobby sends him to the infirmary the first time he stumbles, although he was careful not to say a word.

It just gets worse from there.

By dinner-time, Cas is a miserable heap underneath the blanket, the not-just-morning-situation has been a plague upon his body and soul for about four hours, and a part of him honestly thinks it might be better to just wander outside the castle gates into the nearest lake.

Even if he drowned, at least he wouldn’t be so damned _hot._

Of course, once Ellen has made him eat, despite the food-smell turning his stomach, the chills set in.

By nine o’clock, Cas is only _assuming_ he read the clock correctly, and he’s more sure than ever that Ellen was _wrong, _this is _not _normal, and he will probably be dead by tomorrow.

“Thank you for always being kind to me,” Cas tells her when she checks in at ten.

She gives him a weird look.

“’Course. Puttin’ aside the fact that I’m the damn doctor — you’re easy to be kind to, hon.”

Cas nods, a little soothed by the sentiment.

“Will you bring me some stationery? I — I think I had best write my sister,” he explains mournfully, and she frowns at him.

And then she snorts.

“Oh, honey. You’re not dyin’. I’ll bring you pen and paper, if you want, but trust me — you’re okay.” She doesn’t say it like she’s mocking him, and she pats his hand at the end, so Cas supposes she’s telling the truth.

“Very well.”

“I brought somethin’ to help you sleep,” she says, and then pointedly glances at the little cloth bag on the nightstand. “And — you do whatever it is that makes you most comfortable, but I just wanna remind you — there’s no shame in helpin’ yourself. Everybody does it, and it don’t mean anything except that you suffer less, which is only a good thing. Alright?”

But something in Ellen’s lecture sticks, for Cas.

_Ain’t no shame in helpin’ yourself._

And he remembers what Jo told him, last time.

“Is — will Dean come to see me, tomorrow?” he asks, before he can stop himself.

Ellen freezes, spoon of syrupy red mixture hovering over a cup of tea.

“I don’t know,” she says cautiously, resuming her mixing. “Will he?”

Cas almost says nothing, already regretting bringing it up, already regretting _thinking _of it at all. Cas has entertained one or two fantasies of Dean visiting him during his heat, nobly offering his aid, as Dean is wont to do, and Cas declining with a poise and aplomb he doesn’t recall experiencing last time but is sure he could muster so long as Dean kept his visit short.

In this fantasy, Dean — who Cas is given to understand _does _have someone help him during ruts — is so extremely impressed by Cas’s unmatched fortitude, he expresses a keen anticipation for the day Cas attains full knighthood and observes him with admiring eyes thereafter.

Right now, though, the fantasies seem unimportant. What seems important is that Cas is not sure he can endure another _day _of this, let alone two or three, and just the _thought_ of Dean coming to visit him seems to make him feel better.

“Jo said he would. Last time, she said — she said next time, he’d help me. And that it would make it better.” Ellen gives him a sharp look, and Cas swallows. “You said something like that, too. That having someone — helps.”

“That girl,” Ellen mutters, and sighs. “I don’t know. It’s true, that it’s a lot better, havin’ someone help you through it. But if you didn’t talk to Dean about it . . . he probably won’t.”

Something bitter and sad blooms in his chest.

“But Dean — he’s a — an honorable knight. Wouldn’t he offer?”

Even as Cas says it, he knows it must be wrong. Dean didn’t offer last time, and the whole point behind Cas refusing help — aside from his embarrassment and discomfort — was not to place that burden on Dean.

It must be enough of a burden that Dean isn’t even willing.

“Never mind,” he says, sinking back into the pillow, skin itching. “It’s fine. I’ll be fine.”

Ellen hesitates.

“You will,” she agrees. “And remember — it’s perfectly okay to help yourself, too.”

Cas says nothing, and Ellen regards him with sad eyes as she brushes back his sweaty hair and gives him the tea.

“That should help knock you out. I’ll check on you first thing in the morning, and we’ll see how this one’s fixin’ to play out. Alright?”

“Alright.”

She bids him good night and shuts the door, and although the next half hour is more of the same unique hell he’s been experiencing all day, he soon falls into blissful unconsciousness.

Perhaps he shouldn’t have talked to Ellen, though, because when he wakes in the morning, his head is muzzy, full of wispy dream fragments.

All of which center around Dean.

Normally, this wouldn’t be a problem. Dean has shown up in his dreams since he moved here, as has everyone else in the castle. It’s true that some of the dreams have been different, the last several months, dreams that are _just _about Dean, about just Dean and him, he thinks_, _and they’re incredibly disorienting when juxtaposed with the morning situation; but once Cas’s day has begun, they’re long forgotten, and they interfere with nothing.

Today, though; today Cas wakes up clammy and squirming and intensely preoccupied with the vague dream memory of Dean having come to see him after all, of him curling close around Cas and being the one to tell him he’s going to be alright, sort of like that one night the day John yelled at him and Sam.

_Today _—

Today is much, much worse.

Ellen checks on him just after the sun’s up, a cool bath in tow. She strips and changes the sheets while he seeks solace in the water, and helps him into fresh pajamas once he’s started shivering, ready to get out.

He’s sweating again before fifteen minutes have passed.

“Jo’ll bring you breakfast soon. Hopefully you’ll get a break today.” She eyes the cloth bag on the nightstand briefly, then offers him an encouraging smile. “See you in a couple hours, hon.”

Jo shows up about thirty minutes later, and although the thought of eating makes him feel queasy, she seems ready to stick around and eat with him, and the company makes Cas feel better.

Still, he can’t help but ask.

“Did — did someone let Dean know? Because he usually walks with me to breakfast, now, and I wasn’t there, so he might have — worried.”

Jo looks a little embarrassed.

“Oh, yeah. He, uh, he knows.”

Cas swallows, tries to hold back the question, but last year Jo _said _—

“Is he going to visit me?”

She looks away, tugging at a strand of blonde hair.

“Oh, um.” She smiles, a little awkward, still not looking at him. “Maybe in a few days?”

Oh.

“Alright. Tell everyone I said hello.”

She finally meets his eyes, giving his hand a squeeze.

“Of course. And hey, I bet you’ll be back up and kicking ass in no time.”

Cas feels too exhausted to so much as walk across the room, but perhaps. He appreciates the sentiment, at any rate.

“I better get to training. I’ll probably drop in later, okay?”

“Thank you, Jo.”

“No problem. We’ve all been there.”

She leaves, and Cas collapses back in his bed, trying not to think about how Dean isn’t coming to see him.

He’s going to be a _knight, _he tells himself.

He can do this on his own.

The problem with trying to make Cas feel better about the fact that Sam and Valencia spend every meal eye-fucking across the butter dish is that now Dean is used to him being around like, all the time.

So when he shows up to the barracks to walk the kid to breakfast and finds an empty bed, it’s — not an awesome start to his day.

Look, Dean’s not a huge fan of change, sue him.

“Where is he?” he snaps at the nearest person, maybe a little harsher than necessary, but _in his defense, _last time Cas wasn’t in bed, he was cuddling in a tent with Sam and Dean got his ass chewed out for a full hour by an angry king.

Also, the whole fucking point of his marriage was nearly in jeopardy, so — so he’s totally justified in being sensitive here.

Anyway, Sam is probably basking in his two-percent-resolved sexual tension at breakfast right now, which is good in some ways, because it means Cas isn’t with him, but also bad, because if Cas isn’t with him then _where the hell is he_?

They’re not at war, so _probably _nobody managed to sneak in and abduct him, but you never know, and—

“Uh, h-he’s in one of the — the rooms at Ellen’s,” Kevin explains, wide-eyed and inching back, and Dean realizes he’s looming, glowering down at the poor kid like the beasts of folktales.

Then his words sink in.

“What? What’s wrong with him?”

Kevin swallows.

“Heat! He’s in heat, he’s — he’s fine. Everything’s fine!”

Oh.

Dean forces himself to step back.

“Sorry,” he mutters, and Kevin shrugs.

“Nah, it’s okay. I know how it goes.”

Dean gives him a suspicious look.

“How what goes?”

Kevin just looks at him funny.

“Um, you know? Look, just because I spend a lot of time in the library doesn’t mean I don’t know things. If anything, it means I know _more_ things,” Kevin complains, then takes a deep breath, giving Dean a bright smile. “Anyway, see you at breakfast!”

Dean frowns and watches him go.

Weird kid.

He supposes he better go, too, although he lingers by Cas’s bed for a minute, wondering if he should try and visit.

On the one hand, he’s trying to be as supportive of Cas as possible, and for all he knows, Cas’ll be pining for Sam even _harder _because he’s in he—

Dean freezes, abruptly disgruntled at the thought, because _yeah, _gross — no way in hell does he wanna think of his best friend thinking about his goddamn brother during his heat.

Annoyed, he shoves the thought aside.

The point is, he’d like to go try and cheer Cas up, but it’s only day two, and Dean doesn’t know how bad it is, and most importantly, Cas threw something at him and told him to get out last time, so . . .

Dean’s not sure he wants to do that again.

Or rather, he’s definitely sure he doesn’t want to do that again, because as soon as he tries to picture Cas yelling him out of his sick room, he feels — weirdly terrible. Kind of hot and itchy and sour in the pit of his stomach.

Yeah, he better wait.

He takes a deep breath, turning to go — and trips a little, although he quickly recovers, beating a hasty retreat toward the Hall.

It’s weird, though — since when do the barracks smell so _good_?

He’s definitely going to have to tease Cas about that when his heat is over; there’s clearly a high standard among the youth of Winchester Castle, and the consequences of his anti-bath sentiment are bound to catch up to him eventually.

He’s still smirking when he enters the Hall, but he’s barely sat down across from Sam before Jo is dropping into the chair next to him.

“That’s Cas’s chair,” he says automatically, and she gives him a look.

“Good morning to you, too, Dean. I’m great, thanks for asking.”

“Dude, seriously.”

“_Dude, seriously,_” she mimics, and he narrows his eyes.

“One asshole little brother is enough for me, thanks,” he says, and she kicks him under the table.

“So, Cas’s heat hit.”

Nothing else follows, so Dean just raises his brows.

“Yeah, Kevin told me. And?”

She stares.

“And . . . what the hell are you still doing here?”

Dean blinks.

“Uh. Am I supposed to bring him breakfast or something?”

Jo makes a face.

“You’re kidding, right?”

Dean hesitates. He can kind of see her point, but in his defense . . .

“Well, it’s not like anyone _warned _me, or else I would have had the kitchens make something spe—”

Jo throws a napkin at his face, and Dean’s suddenly hyper-aware of Sam and Valencia watching from the other side of the table, dead silent.

Sam’s eyes flicker to Jo, and for some reason, he shakes his head.

Jo gapes at him.

“You’ve gotta be _kidding_, Sam.”

“Jo—” he starts, and she stands, turning back to Dean with furious eyes.

“Sometimes you’re as bad as your _father,_” she spits, and storms off.

“What the hell was that?” he snarls, bristling. “Jesus Christ, you’d think she hit a fucking rut.”

Sam winces.

“Dean—”

“She has the nerve to criticize _me_ — I am doing everything I _can, _for fuck’s sake, not that either of _you_ are helping, and if someone had just fucking _told _me Cas was going to have a heat, I could have had a damn pie or what the fuck ever sent over but I didn’t _know_—”

Sam’s pained look is shifting into a sort of alarmed concern.

“Dean,” he interrupts. “Are you — okay?”

Dean takes a deep breath, trying to calm down.

“Fine,” he bites out.

“Okay,” Sam says slowly. “Do you wanna sit back down, maybe?”

What? Dean’s not —

Oh.

Shit. Yeah, he’s definitely standing.

He quickly sits down, aware of the stares.

“Sorry,” he mumbles. “Sorry, I don’t — I don’t know.”

Sam scrutinizes him.

“Are you good?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m good, I just — I think I’ll — eat upstairs.”

Valencia and Sam have the nerve to exchange glances, and god _damn _is it annoying. He can’t even imagine how Cas must feel.

At least they’re not holding hands and making out all over the place. Probably saving it for all those long walks they take, when they have some privacy.

Of course, if they weren’t, Dean would make _sure_ they saved it for the walks. No way in hell would he let them subject Cas to that.

The hypothetical threat to Cas just has him feeling even crankier, and the minute he’s loaded his plate, he mutters a goodbye and hurries off.

Breakfast alone makes him feel better, and by the time he gets to training, he’s in a way better mood. Training’s mostly maintenance, if he’s being honest — John’s standards mean Dean could pretty much do this in his sleep — but he feels especially sharp, today, and there’s a special thrill to be had from sparring, more than he usually gets.

And if he plays a little rougher than usual — well, it’s good training for everybody else.

“Uh. Is it just me or is Dean . . .” he hears Benny start, which is a little weird, but Dean’s currently kicking Roy’s ass, so he only listens with half an ear.

“Dude, it’s _December,_” Charlie points out, the significance of which mystifies Dean, and Benny shakes his head.

“Still.”

But Roy’s tired of getting thrown on the ground, and the minute he’s back up this time, he rushes Dean, leaving all thoughts of sideline conversations behind.

Roy’s still trying to catch his breath, sullenly rubbing at his sternum, by the time Dean’s next opponent is on the ground.

Dean’s mood sours a little when he realizes he doesn’t need to stick around the courtyard to work with Cas, and he wonders if maybe he should go see how Cas is doing. Clearly, Ellen’s not enforcing any special rules there (which, at the moment, kind of pisses Dean off, because now more than ever, he hates the idea of Cas rough-housing with everybody else in the middle of his damn heat) so maybe Cas is well enough to come out for a bit?

On the other hand, Dean’s still afraid of being sent away. But Cas is staying in an unfamiliar room; maybe if Dean brought his pillow from the barracks, and some extra blankets — like the super soft one Dean uses as auxiliary in the winter — Cas wouldn’t be so pissed.

Dean could bring other pillows, too. Cas just has the one, in his bed in the barracks, which doesn’t seem right. He can’t be comfortable like that; at least not as comfortable as he should be.

So, yeah. Dean should definitely get some extra pillows and blankets. Ellen probably did her best to set Cas up, but Dean doesn’t think Cas would have complained to her, if he had a problem, or asked for what he needed, and how else would Ellen know? Dean, though — Dean knows what Cas needs.

Satisfied, he starts toward the hall, a bounce to his step, only to be stopped by Sam calling out.

“Hey, Dean! You going to read with us today?”

Dean turns, frowning.

It seems a little dickish for Sam and Valencia to cozy up under the tree while Cas is away. Reading under the tree is Sam and Cas’s thing, and while Dean thinks it’s best Cas get over Sam as fast as earthly possible, this kind of thing has to hurt him.

Not for the first time, he’s kind of pissed at his little brother. Isn’t Sam supposed to be the _sensitive _one?

It’s a damn good thing Sam’s off-limits and not interested, besides. He’d make Cas a fucking _terrible _mate. He doesn’t know how to take care of him _at all._

“Nah. I was gonna take Cas some stuff.”

Sam and Valencia do that annoying eye contact thing again, but Dean can’t be bothered with that right now. Cas is waiting.

Well, not _waiting, _but he’s probably suffering through wrong-pillow and inadequate blankets _as they speak, _and Dean feels an urgent, pressing need to fix that.

“What, um, what kind of stuff?” Sam asks, like it’s any of his fucking business.

“Stuff,” Dean says, narrowing his eyes.

Sam bristles.

“What _kind _of stuff?” he repeats, and Dean steps a little closer, hands curling into fists.

“Pillows. Blankets. Honeycakes. _Stuff._”

Sam relaxes a little, although Dean can still scent traces of anger in the air.

“Ellen’s discouraging most visitors.” Sam says slowly. “She wouldn’t even let Val in.”

_Good, _Dean thinks, although he has no idea why. Cas could probably use some company.

“I’m just dropping some things off.”

“Sure. Drop them off, then. Ellen’ll see that he gets them.”

Dean stares, disbelief polluted with a sudden rage.

“You tellin’ me Ellen won’t let me see him?”

But Sam doesn’t back down.

“Basically.”

“It’s not up to Ellen,” Dean says, and for some reason, Valencia takes a step back, regarding him warily.

His brother stays put.

“No. But it _is _up to Cas. And Cas put Ellen in charge of taking care of him, so if Ellen says he’s not good for visitors, then he’s not.”

Sam’s right. Dean _knows _Sam’s right, but the vivid memory of the book hurtling past his head and Cas screaming at him to _get out _rears its ugly head, and it makes the truth sting that much more.

“Fine,” he snaps, and stalks off without waiting for a response, all good feelings gone.

Dean drops off the pillows and blankets and an assortment of snacks from the kitchen before dinner, when he knows Ellen’s not going to be there, just to prove that Sam has no reason to treat him like some kind of goddamn monster every time Cas’s heat rolls around.

He doesn’t even go past the front door, just tacks a note on top of the pile for Ellen to find when she gets back from dinner, and then heads right back in the direction he came from.

Still, he thinks it’s stupid as fuck. Sam’s been too busy cavorting around the grounds with Valencia, when he _knows _how Cas feels, to be a proper best friend. If anything, Dean thinks he qualifies for the title just as much, lately, and given that he’s been going out of his way to make Cas feel better ever since the tent debacle forced everyone’s hand, he’s pretty sure Cas would actually feel _better _if Dean visited him.

But Ellen’s the doctor, and if she thinks that’s not what’s best for Cas, then so be it. The idea of acting against Cas’s best interests is actually _really _stressful, if he thinks about it, so whatever his own opinions, there’s no way in hell he’d risk it.

Nonetheless, he’s moody during dinner, and he restlessly paces his room before he’s finally tired enough to try going to sleep, and in the morning, it becomes painfully apparent why he had so much trouble the day before.

As it turns out, it had _nothing _to do with Cas_ at all._

Nope, Dean is going into _rut._

“I don’t understand,” he complains to Ellen. “It’s _December. _I never go into rut in fucking _December.”_

“Mind your language, boy. And cycles aren’t perfect, you know that.”

“Yeah, but — but mine _is,_” he insists, and she arches a brow.

“Uh-huh. Funny thing is, I don’t remember you having one last summer.”

Dean opens his mouth to correct her, because he has one every February and August, like clockwork, but —

“Shit,” he breathes. “I missed my rut.”

“Yep.” There’s something strange about the way she’s watching him. “And it’s catchin’ up to you. Probably gonna be a bad one.”

Dean groans.

“Son of a bitch. Why the hell is this happening, again?”

Ellen hesitates.

“Lots of things can affect your cycle,” she says simply, and at last, the penny drops.

“Shit.”

She nods.

“Cas?”

She nods again, that careful look still on her face, and Dean slumps back against the pillows with an unhappy growl.

“God damn it. Should’ve thought of that — we’re spending practically all our time together. This is just like that time Sam and I synced up before he moved into the barracks, isn’t it?”

Ellen blinks, mouth opening slightly.

“Sorry?”

Dean grimaces.

“Remember? There was that year we both had our ruts at the same damn time, and it was _awful. _Stunk up the whole floor, and bickered so much we made each other cry. I mean, figuratively,” he adds, although he’s pretty sure Ellen knows that it wasn’t figurative at all.

Ellen is just staring at him.

“You . . . think you’re syncin’ with Cas — because you spend too much time together?”

“Yeah? I mean, I guess it could be a coincidence, but he sleeps in here half the week, now. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it.”

Ellen regards him with a weirdly blank look.

“Don’t feel bad,” she says finally. “I doubt _anybody_ would think of it.”

That cheers him, slightly. It’s kind of weird that Ellen’s not being sarcastic at him — she’s a doctor, after all, so she probably _would _have anticipated it — but he’s not going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Anyway, if he thinks about it, this isn’t the worst thing in the world.

“Well, hey. If we stay synced up, we can take the same time off from training. Kind of a good thing, if you think about it. Maybe I should make Sam move back down the hall,” he jokes, but Ellen looks remarkably unimpressed.

“Right, then. Well, there’s something in there for sleeping troubles and muscle aches. The next few days probably won’t be any kind of picnic, but you should be fine.”

He sighs.

“Yeah, alright. Thanks, Ellen.” He hesitates. “Uh — tell Cas I said hi, okay?”

“You don’t think the supplies were enough of a hello?” she counters dryly, and for whatever reason, his face heats.

It’s probably the rut; it’s a good thing Ellen is leaving, since the Unfortunately Persistent Boner of Rut is likely to return at any moment.

“He’s doin’ okay, right?”

“If anything did change since you asked me when I got here, I wouldn’t know about it.”

He scowls.

“Well, is he using the pillows and blankets? Did he eat?”

Something odd flashes across Ellen’s face, but then it’s gone, and she shrugs.

“I reckon. Anyway — I better go check on him. See you later, Dean. Feel better.”

Ellen leaves, and Dean stews in over-warm, itchy discomfort, trying to figure out who he should ask to help him through this one.

A huge part of him doesn’t want to, even though Ellen said it might be worse than usual; Dean likes to think he still manages to be an adequately considerate and generous lover, even in rut, but sex is never as much fun when you feel like you _have _to do it, even if physically, it makes him feel a lot better. Despite the fact that the people who have helped him through his ruts are all people who are generally happy to throw down with him when he’s not nearly out of his mind with cycle-driven lust, he still feels incredibly awkward about hitting them up for rut help.

Needs must, though, and eventually, Dean convinces himself to start penning a note to Carmen before it can get _too _bad.

Still — he feels worse about it than usual.

“He’s _what?_”

Jo is looking at Ellen, appalled, but Ellen continues working at the table, carefully measuring out some root powder.

“He hit his rut.”

“But it’s _December. _Dean’s the most regular person I _know, _which is ironic as hell, but there you go.”

“Well, he’s in rut anyway.”

“Wow.” Jo flops into Ellen’s desk chair, a little shocked. “They’re not even mated, though.”

“Happens sometimes. You can have bonds without mating. Not often, but you can.”

“Jeez. Okay. But — why isn’t he here, then? I went to see Cas just now and I had to walk away because he’s _crying _in there, Mom. Seriously, he’s miserable_._”

Ellen sighs.

“I know. And I feel bad about it, but — there’s not a lot we can do.”

“No, but _Dean _can, so why the hell isn’t he? Besides, what’s _he_ gonna do?”

“Carmen took some leave to go help him out, I think.”

Jo bolts out of her chair.

“_What_?” she thunders. “Oh, _hell, _no. No fucking way does Cas have to do this alone while Dean—”

“Jo.”

“Don’t ‘_Jo’ _me, Dean’s being a total asshole and you _know _it.”

“I get where you’re comin’ from, honey, I do, but think about it from Dean’s perspective. Cas is young.”

Jo frowns at her.

“He’s seventeen, Mom.”

Ellen snorts.

“Which _is _young, and don’t argue with me, but the _point _is — Cas might be seventeen, but Dean ain’t. Be different if they both were, but they’re not. What’s more — Cas was a child when he met Dean, Jo. He looks up to Dean. Dean’s his role model and protector, and on some level, Dean knows that.”

“Seriously? Mom, you’ve _seen _how Cas looks at him. Maybe all that was true at one point, but — come _on._ Cas loves him.”

Finally, Ellen sets her pestle down, turning to Jo.

“Look. I ain’t gonna say Cas there don’t have real feelings, but Dean’s not wrong to hesitate, sweetheart. He knows well enough not to take advantage.”

“How is it _taking advantage_—”

“Maybe, maybe not. Jo, Cas ain’t seventeen the way you were, the way most of the kids in Lawrence are. He’s not even comfortable helpin’ himself. The last thing we need is him agreein’ to somethin’ he doesn’t really want just because he ain’t used to dealing with any of this.”

Jo purses her lips.

“A blind man could see how in love he is.”

“Well, that’s a separate issue, ain’t it? In love or not, Cas might not want that. Might never want that. He’s seventeen and it don’t seem like he has yet.”

“Okay, but — maybe it’s like you said. He could be a late bloomer. And Bobby told his whole barrack that in Eden, you’re not supposed to talk about those things, and everyone’s been pretty good about it.”

“Could be, Jo. But we don’t know that. And even if that is all it is, even if Cas would be fine havin’ Dean help him — he’s definitely not ready to help _Dean_ through a rut.”

Jo opens her mouth, then shuts it, making a face.

“Oh, fine. I just — it’s just not fair. He’s _miserable, _Mom, and even besides that — you should have seen his face when I told him Dean brought him things. He lit up for about two seconds, and then he looked like he was going to cry and he asked me why Dean didn’t at least say hello while he was here. I had no idea what to even _say._”

Ellen frowns.

“Well, I don’t think we should tell him Dean’s in rut.”

“I don’t know, I think Dean’ll deserve it if Cas is pissed at him for getting help when he refused to give it.”

“Jo—”

“It’s not like Cas can ask for help from anybody else, either. Dean _knows _that. But no, he’s gonna hide away in the castle like a fucking coward while Cas suffers alone. And I’m pretty sure that ass brought Cas a blanket from _his _bed. Mom, he started sniffing it before I even left the room! It was weird as hell, but mostly it was just _sad. _What was Dean _thinking_?”

Ellen sighs.

“Honestly? I don’t think he was.”

“How can he _no__t_?”

“Mental block? I don’t have a damn clue, but I talked to him earlier and if I had to guess, I’d say it ain’t even occurred to him that he could or should help Cas with his heats.”

Jo throws up her hands.

“Cas is his _husband_! And _again, _there’s this huge, stupid-ass double standard; if it’s not Dean, it’s no one.”

“For Dean, though, Cas is still that cute little kid Eden sent over three-and-a-half years ago.”

“He has _stubble_! His voice is deeper than _Sam’s_!”

“He’s also nearly seven years younger than Dean.”

Jo just scoffs.

“Their _cycles_ synced! Dean brought him shit to build a fucking nest yesterday, shit that was _covered _in his scent.”

“Dean thinks it’s all the time they spend together. As for the nest — I don’t think he realized that’s what he was doing.”

Jo is silent for a long moment, jaw tense.

“This is _bullshit_,” she finally says, and Ellen snorts.

“So you said. But it’s bullshit that ain’t really your business. Take Cas some tea and come help me with this batch of eyedrops, alright?”

Jo huffs, extensively, but does as she’s told, for once.

And Ellen – well, Ellen would be lying if she said she wasn’t worried about it, but it’s nothing new.

Three-and-a-half years ago, Cas walked through the doors of the council room, and Ellen recognized the exact moment Dean realized who he was.

It was right around the same moment he looked at two kings like he just might draw blood, paternal affection and treaties be damned.

And even if Bobby never said a word about it, Ellen’s a damn doctor, and the kid who came down from his wedding chamber had almost certainly not just had a wedding night; but as proud of Dean as she is for that, for all of it, she’s not a fool. She knew then that Cas wasn’t gonna stay a kid for long, and Dean was gonna try to do the right thing long past when it was still the right thing, regardless of what either of them actually wanted.

Still — that day’s not quite here yet, and they are kids, the both of them.

She understands Jo’s frustration, but at this point . . .

Well, it’s probably for the best.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * SPOILERS *  
Referenced Dean/other: Past puppy-love attachment to Cassie is mentioned; at the end of the chapter, Dean's rut hits, and he decides to send a note off to Carmen for help. After, Jo and Ellen discuss the fact that Dean is pursuing help, as well.


	6. Part VI

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: Dean/other (that conversation’s beginning and end is marked with ** just in case, see end notes for details), characters having heats/ruts, non-graphic mentions of war.

Compared to this year, last year’s heat was a carefree picnic on a pleasant spring day.

It’s three days before Cas can even leave his room, and by the third day — by the time it’s finally sunk in that Dean’s not coming to help him — Cas has learned to help himself.

He keenly regrets the time he suggested Sam and Dean were in any way lesser for more proactively dealing with erections. He understands, now, and he’s not sure he could have _survived _had he not caved.

He also understands what Jo means about _work. _ Perhaps he’s doing it wrong, but he barely has the energy to deal with the situation at the _beginning_, and as much as it provides a whole-body relief he clings to, it still leaves him a little more exhausted than he started out.

He gathers that other people do this for fun, which is — well, baffling. It feels good, to an extent; certainly, there’s a fine moment there at the end, as weird as it feels, and even if there weren’t, the fact that he can _feel _the heat recede in the seconds that follow is motivation enough.

But there’s so much _discomfort _involved in a heat; the good feeling reminds him of jumping into a cold pool on a blistering hot day, or finally scratching an elusive itch somewhere under his clothes after being plagued by it for hours — things that feel good mostly by virtue of the fact that they alleviate some pre-existing discomfort.

He would try it again under more neutral circumstances, but by the time his heat breaks even a little, he’s sick of doing it, and he’s sick of trying not to think about Dean while he does so. He has no idea _why _his brain seems to veer in that direction the moment his heat gets to be unbearable enough for him to expend the energy, but it does, and weirder still, it seems to affect results.

And those effects are — positive, he supposes, but the uncertain connection leaves him feeling embarrassed and vaguely guilty, so he tries to avoid it.

He still doesn’t touch the cloth bag on the nightstand, though. While he can grudgingly be brought to see the merits of the other thing, he remembers his talk with Ellen well enough to be confident that nothing in there is going to help him. Not enough to be worth the discomfort, and he’s _sure _it can’t be comfortable, no matter what she says.

_Other_ people’s bodies may be designed for that, but Cas is confident his is not. It’s probably all the knight training, he reasons, tiredly feeling around his glutes. They’re quite firm, which he decides is evidence that the area is no longer suited to accommodate any kind of — external interference.

In any case, day four dawns without any erections at all. He can tell he still has a bit of a fever, but he no longer feels _slippery, _ and the cool bath Ellen brings him feels _too _cold.

Best yet, when he’s done with it, Ellen looks him over critically and then instructs him to put on his training clothes.

At this point, Cas feels like he’d be happy to never see a bed again.

He feels ten times better after training, although that’s less of a surprise. Cas always enjoys training, but it’s helped every heat he’s ever had. He feels well enough, now, that he even gets to spend a half hour or so reading under the tree with Sam before the reprieve clearly begins to come to an end.

Sam walks him back to the infirmary, the cool breeze wafting not only comforting Sam-scent, but also something else, something rich and wonderful, something that smells a lot like _Dean_.

“Did you see Dean today?” Cas asks, only just managing not to lean closer and scent his tunic, and Sam looks startled.

“Yeah, I went to visit him before I met you by the tree.”

“Oh.” Cas clears his throat. “I thought I smelled him.”

Sam makes a face, sniffing at his tunic.

“I don’t — oh, yeah, there it is.” He sighs. “He’s in rut, right now. It’s so gross, the whole _hallway _reeks.”

Cas doesn’t think it’s gross at all. In fact, Cas is considering giving Sam a goodbye hug, just so he can get a better lungful of the scent that’s clinging to his tunic.

He wonders if Ellen will let him go visit Dean, next time there’s a break. Even if Dean can’t have visitors, like Cas had been the last few days, Cas could just — say hi through the door. And perhaps sit in the hallway for a little bit.

“Cas?”

“Yes?”

Sam gives him a concerned look.

“We better hurry. You don’t look so good.”

Cas trails after him, discreetly scenting the air in his wake, and Sam bids him goodbye and good luck before Cas has a chance to try and talk him into a hug.

Cas tries not to be disappointed.

On the other hand, it’s nice to know Dean’s in rut. It doesn’t do much to dull the need Cas feels to see him, but it makes him feel a lot better about the fact that _Dean_ hasn’t come to see _him_. Cas knows firsthand, now, that dealing with a cycle is an enormous amount of work. If Dean’s felt anything like Cas has the last few days, he couldn’t possibly have the energy to assist anyone else, and it wouldn’t be reasonable to expect him to.

But then it occurs to Cas that if they’re _both _having to do all that work, anyway, perhaps they could just — do it for each other? That makes sense, doesn’t it? They could take shifts. It would just be — efficient.

Cas realizes, abruptly, that the erection has returned, and he slumps in the bed with a sigh. He’s tired, and he _really _doesn’t feel like dealing with this right now, not when he’s still preoccupied with figuring out the most — _practical _way for them to manage their respective cycles. After all, when the tedious demands of the body were fulfilled, they could hang out, like they always do. Surely Dean sees the merits of such an arrangement?

And then he remembers that someone else helps Dean with his rut, someone who’s not in cycle and therefore has plenty of energy to assist as needed, and his mood sours.

That’s probably a vastly more ideal arrangement for Dean, he thinks bitterly. Perhaps whoever helps him even keeps him company afterward, while Cas is just left feeling messy and disgruntled, all by himself in the infirmary. If that’s the case, then there’s really no advantage to sharing the cycle with Cas, after all.

Cas wonders, then, if _he’s_ supposed to have asked someone for help. Jo had been so confident Dean would help him, so it never occurred to him to plan for anything else.

He tries to think of who he might ask. Despite how often Meg teases him, he considers her a good friend — but is she a good enough friend that she would be willing to not only take time off training, but expend all that energy when there’s nothing in it for her? Meg is actually pretty nice, but he’s not sure she’s _that _generous.

After all, if even _Dean _wouldn’t do it for him, why would Meg?

And if Cas thinks about it, about Meg dealing with what Cas has had to the last few days, it seems . . . awkward. Cas likes her, very much, but she does tease him, and no matter how many times Sam or Ellen tell him not to be embarrassed, this is still terribly embarrassing.

He decides he’d rather deal with it himself than ask Meg, or any of his barrack-mates. The only people he thinks he’d trust not to judge him too harshly are Sam or Dean.

Which — there’s a thought. Cas could ask Sam.

But as soon as it occurs to him, he dismisses it. Sam is closer to him than Meg, but somehow it seems even stranger.

On the bright side, the erection is gone. Cas stares at his lap, a little puzzled. While it goes away pretty quickly the rest of the year, erections during heat are annoyingly persistent, and he’s only managed to get them to disappear entirely by actually _dealing _with them.

He smiles to himself, though his stomach feels a little queasy, now.

No doubt this is a sign he’s getting better.

Six days.

_Six fucking days, _before the rut from hell finally releases him from his clutches.

**

Carmen leaves after day three, bags under her sympathetic eyes.

“I can see what Tessa or Linus’s schedule is like?” she offers, and Dean just shakes his head.

In addition to being the worst rut of his life, this has been the worst rut _sex_ of his life. Carmen’s a trooper for sticking around this long, but Dean’s been, uh, difficult, and it’s definitely been more work than play for her.

“No, uh. That’s okay. Thank you, though, for that, and for helping in the first place. It was — it was a weird rut, so I know it wasn’t exactly a good time.”

Carmen just shakes her head, smiling.

“Don’t feel bad, Dean. I wouldn’t trade you alphas and omegas for anything in the world. I’m just glad if I could help.”

“You did,” he says quickly, and it’s true — Dean doesn’t know if he could have done it alone — but it didn’t help nearly as much as usual and Dean is, frankly, baffled. It’s like his body couldn’t make up its mind about being turned on or not.

He’s also pretty sure the next wave is about to hit, though, so Carmen should probably get going.

She hesitates at the door.

“Did you talk to Ellen?”

“Yeah. She said it was because I missed my August rut. Apparently I’ve been spendin’ too much time with Cas, so we’re syncin’ up.”

Carmen frowns.

“Cas is in heat?”

“Uh. Yeah?” Dean’s not sure why this is of interest to her.

She gives him a perplexed look, and then finally says:

“By himself?”

Dean blinks.

“Well, obviously.” John would have a fit if Cas had someone helping him, and even if _that _ weren’t an issue, Dean can’t help but think none of Cas’s barrack-mates are . . . _responsible _enough to do it.

“Obviously,” she repeats, expression kind of frosty. “Dean, why am I here?”

Dean blanches, stomach dropping.

“Do you — did you not want to be? You, uh. You’ve helped me out a lot of times, I didn’t — but — you could have said no — like, seriously, you can _always _say no —”

Carmen rolls her eyes.

“Of _course _I could have said no. I just don’t know why you asked me in the first place. I thought you were trying to be considerate of someone, but apparently not.”

Dean is so fucking lost.

“What?”

She sighs.

“Nothing. Good luck with the rest of your rut, Dean. I hope it breaks soon.”

**

And then Carmen just walks off, annoyance clear in her gait, and Dean stands in the doorway for a long moment, wondering what he’s missing.

But then a rush of heat fills him, pajama pants suddenly feeling a little tighter than is comfortable, and Dean reluctantly drags himself back to bed.

It’s three more days before his head is clear and his body decides to have mercy, and Dean is ready to crawl out of his own goddamn skin if it means he can go somewhere that isn’t his fucking bedroom. At one point, he’s so out of his mind with exhaustion and a lust that won’t abate, he starts to worry he’s going to miss Christmas altogether.

Fortunately, that is not the case, and after the first good night’s sleep he’s had all week, Dean goes down to breakfast with a damn skip in his step.

His mood just gets better when he sees Cas waiting at the table, although that makes sense. Cas’s cycle seems to be dictating the schedule here, and he’s only seventeen, so he was probably back in the yard after a couple of days.

Lucky bastard.

Still, Cas actually leaps up out of his chair when he sees Dean coming, and Dean’s startled to realize how much he missed him, though it was only six days.

Maybe they _have _been spending too much time together.

It’s not really a problem, though Dean could have done without the hell-rut, and he doesn’t give it a second thought before he reaches the table and wraps Cas in a hug.

Cas makes a startled noise, and then hugs him back, clinging tightly.

Dean tries not to feel smug; looks like Cas missed him, too.

“We gonna eat breakfast?” he asks, just to be a dick, and Cas’s arms tighten.

“In a minute,” he mutters.

Dean grins, if only because Cas can’t see him, and lets his chin rest on top of his head.

It’s a little less comfortable than usual, though; Dean wouldn’t be surprised if it’s not possible in another few months, and even now, he shifts back to letting his cheek rest against Cas’s hair.

Which — smells _really _good.

“You smell nice,” he says, and then waits a beat, smirking. “Must’ve just had your weekly bath.”

Cas stiffens, then tries to disentangle himself. Dean holds on, winking at Sam and Valencia over Cas’s head, although it’s a bit of trick. Kid is scrappy.

Eventually he just huffs, leaning back into Dean.

“You know very well I take more than one bath a week.”

“Hey, I didn’t see you all week, maybe you haven’t.”

He can’t see Cas’s scowl, but he’s pretty sure it’s there.

There’s a long silence, and then Cas sighs.

“You smell very nice, too, Dean. I missed you,” he adds, sounding utterly sincere, and suddenly, Dean feels a little weird about the hug.

He clears his throat, pulling back, but Cas seems weirdly reluctant to let him go.

“Well, uh. Thanks. But, uh, breakfast probably smells better, so — so we should . . .”

Cas takes a deep breath, and then steps back, watching Dean with an inscrutable look.

“Alright.”

For once, Dean’s not up for the cute staring contest, and he hastily takes his seat.

Fuckin’ weird.

“Hey, where’s my hug?” Sam asks, way too innocent, and Dean glares at him.

“Fuck off.”

“Wow, Dean, are you _sure _your rut is over, because—”

Dean throws a biscuit at him, and Sam has the nerve to just smirk.

Cas is young, okay, and so what if he’s a little clingy? He’s probably feeling totally abandoned by Sam, at this point, and if he needs a little more reassurance from Dean, then Dean is happy to provide that, and Sam can just shut his stupid fucking face.

The point is, it’s not Dean’s fault. He’s not sure why that’s important, but it is, and fortunately, Sam settles down.

“So, I miss anything good?”

There’s a snort from Jo.

“You’re gonna,” she says through a mouth full of biscuit, stink-eye in full swing, and _seriously, _what the hell? It’s been _six days. _How is she still — _whatever_ is wrong with her?

“Less biscuit, more vegetables, Jo,” he retorts, but she just slows her chewing, opening her mouth wide to reveal a large clump of masticated biscuit.

Dean makes a retching gesture and focuses his attention on Cas’s empty plate.

Cas has probably been out of heat for several days, already, but Dean still feels compelled to dump a generous amount of preserves on his biscuit, because according to Ellen, fruit and shit like that are important after a cycle.

Sam’s probably been too busy mooning over his maybe-but-maybe-not-girlfriend to pay attention, anyway. God, poor Cas. Dean hasn’t even been here as a buffer. No wonder he missed him.

“You been okay?” he asks, putting down his plate and nudging him. Cas shrugs, looking down.

“Yes. Ellen said it was normal.”

Dean frowns.

“What was normal?”

“My heat. I thought it was — very bad, but she said it was normal.” Cas shrugs again, sighing as he picks up his fork. “I suppose I’ll get used to it.”

Dean’s not sure what to say to that.

“Sorry,” he offers, and Cas is quiet for a moment.

“It’s okay,” he finally says, like he’s forgiving Dean for something. Which doesn’t seem quite right, but maybe Dean’s imagining it. “And you? Are you okay?”

Dean makes a face.

“I guess. Worst rut I’ve ever had, swear to God.”

Charlie snickers, grinning at Cas as she drops into the seat on his other side.

“He says that _every _time.”

“It _was,_ ” Dean insists. “Or did you not notice me being gone for _six days_?”

Charlie blinks.

“Oh, gee, has it been six?” She wrinkles her nose. “Yikes, okay, that’s fair. Sorry, man.”

“Yeah, well.” Dean sniffs. “That actually wasn’t the worst part. Carmen pretty much gave up after three days, it was that bad.”

Charlie gives him a weird look.

“Carmen?”

“Yeah?”

“Oh. I didn’t know — but — well, I guess he _is_ only — but — right. Okay.”

What the _fuck_?

Everybody’s looking at him, except Cas, who’s looking at everyone else, openly curious.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Charlie says quickly. “Anyway, it’ll be good to have you back. Benny _hates _playing Captain. It means he can’t sneak off to nap.”

“Aw, c’mon now, I don’t do that. Everybody’s gotta take a breather now an’ again.”

“Right, and you’re just resting your eyes.”

“Well, sure. Sun is mighty bright, ain’t it?”

Charlie rolls her eyes.

“Do you _see, _Dean?”

“Sorry, I’m gonna have to side with Benny here. The naps are the secret to his reflexes.”

“Aw, thanks chief.”

“So you _are _napping!” Charlie crows, and Benny throws Dean a betrayed look.

He just shrugs, winking at Cas, who smiles.

Man, is it good to be back.

Christmas brings with it a horrendous snowstorm, and there’s no question of anyone training, so the week after turns into an extended party in the Hall through New Years. Dean’s pretty sure half the barracks just ends up sleeping in there, to the annoyance of the breakfast crew, but for the most part, good times are had by all. By the fourth day, people have pushed tables together in a makeshift stage and are putting on impromptu plays and talent shows.

Which, yeah, a lot of drinking is happening, too, but hey — it’s the holidays.

This means a week-long sleepover in Dean’s room, of course, though Sam and Valencia sleep in their own beds, and while the storm is a bit of a nuisance, especially given how fucking cold it gets at night, it still means this is one of the best holidays Dean’s ever had.

Besides, unlike Sam and Valencia (who Dean convinced Cas to help him follow once they left one night just to be sure) Dean isn’t sleeping alone. Cas is like a human-sized hot brick in the sheets, and Dean would be lying if he said he wasn’t enjoying having him in there every night.

It’s a little disconcerting the first few times Dean wakes up to him snuggled into his side, but he figures that’s because Cas refuses to wear a damn sleeping cap on account of ‘it’s _itchy, _ Dean.’ Dean _told _ him he’d catch a cold, but since he’s apparently developed an unconscious strategy of sapping _Dean’s _warmth instead, maybe he won’t.

Whatever. Dean’s not really that worried about it.

What he _is _worried about is the news that comes from the West border once the storm has passed.

Purgaea has apparently ransacked a lumber town. There was an outpost a few miles away that made it there before too much damage could be done, but it’s unlikely to have been a random whim.

They’d been afraid of this; Purgaea is far from Eden and Lettra both, and a plot to make war between the two doesn’t make a lot of sense unless you factor Lawrence’s treaty with Eden into the mix.

And while that treaty doesn’t necessarily entail military aid, Eden did send backup to the Hellenian border following the attempted kidnapping, so it’s clearly a possibility. Purgaea probably would have _liked _to have Eden’s forces tied up elsewhere, but apparently, it’s not a dealbreaker.

And this attack will probably not be the first.

Dean knows what that means, for him, and he’s not _excited _about it, but he’s surprised by how poorly Cas takes the news.

“You’re leaving?” he demands, once John has come down to the hall and made the announcement.

“Well, I kind of have to. Purgaea isn’t going anywhere, and I’m not letting my army go without me.”

“Then I’m going, too.”

“Hell no,” he says, not thinking, and Cas looks outraged.

“Why _not_? I continue to outperform all of my peers and I’m sure I’ll be an asset—”

“Like hell you’ll be! You outperform your _peers, _ Cas. We’re not going to war with _them_. I can’t fight if I’m too busy babysitting you.”

“Babysitting — Dean, I am _not _an infant.”

“Then you’re mature enough to get why you’re not coming.”

“I’ve never lost a match with someone in Sam’s rank, besides him.”

Which is both impressive and not surprising, given that Dean works with Cas in the courtyard every day, but still.

“Yeah, well, you’re not there yet, so you’re still not coming with us.”

“What if I don’t fight? What if I just—”

“Dude, we talked about this last time, and now that I know you better, I know for a _fact _you won’t fucking stay put when you’re told to.”

“Perhaps I would if you weren’t such a — such an _assbut__t_ when you were telling me what to do!”

“Yeah, no, we’re not talking about this. You’re not going, and that’s final.”

Cas storms off back to the barracks, like the melodramatic _child _he is, and Dean ignores the table around him exchanging looks.

“Eat your damn dinner,” he grouses, and Benny just tsks.

“I don’t envy you, brother,” he mumbles.

Dean doesn’t even bother asking what that means.

Cas seems to have mostly cooled off the next day, subjecting Dean to less glowering and more baleful looks. He’s quiet, but lets himself be drawn into conversation, and although Dean feels shitty about the whole situation, he figures Cas’ll get back to normal.

But he doesn’t, not really. He’s too quiet at meals and too aggressive at training, and he doesn’t sleep in the castle, even when Dean point-blank asks.

“I’ll sleep better in the barracks,” he mutters, and then hurries off before Dean can even begin to process that.

He does eventually, though, and he’s in a foul mood for days afterward.

Of course, it only gets worse when Sam’s badgering and pestering results in John agreeing that he’s old enough and trained enough to go, too.

“He’ll be twenty in May,” John says tiredly, when Dean tries to argue. “You started riding out pretty much the second you turned fifteen, and you did fine.”

And sure, that’s true — but Dean also didn’t spend hours playing around with friends or hiding in the library. Pretty much all he did from dawn to dusk was train, well past when anyone else was, as per his father’s demands.

He can’t say that, though, especially since Sam probably _does _have the chops to do this.

“What if we both die?”

John pauses.

“Something I should know about your training regimen?”

Dean flushes.

“Obviously, I don’t think we will, but you never know.”

John snorts.

“If only my eldest son had already produced an heir, we wouldn’t even have to worry about it.”

Which kind of stings, but mostly Dean’s just worried John’s about to set a deadline on this thing.

“Sam and I will be fine,” he says tersely, and John nods approvingly.

“You’re Winchesters. I figured.”

Dean seethes, but he doesn’t say a word. He supposes he should just be grateful his Dad has faith in them.

Unfortunately, that leaves the small matter of telling Cas that Sam is coming with him.

On the one hand, part of Dean thinks it’ll be good for him. He’s not sure where Cas is at on the unrequited love front, but he faithfully joins Sam for reading time and listens attentively when he rambles on about some boring-ass subject at dinner, so Dean’s pretty sure there’s still something there. In light of that, some distance will be good for them.

After all, Dean likes to think this whole problem arose since they spent every day in each other’s pockets, for the most part. Once the proximity thing is no longer fucking with his hormones, surely Cas will recognize how ill-suited he and Sam actually are.

(Dean would have tried to explain it to him already, but he’s trying to be sensitive about not bringing it up, and he’s not sure he can even put it into words. He just knows they _are._)

Anyway, that sounds good in theory, but at the end of the day, Cas is losing his best friend and his — whatever Dean is, and he’s being forbidden from following.

Dean’s pretty sure he’s going to be unhappy, and he’s right.

“_Sam _is going?”

“Look, Cas—”

“I win half the times we spar!”

It’s less than half, still, but Dean decides not to say so.

“Right, but still—”

Cas seizes the front of his tunic, eyes imploring

“_Dean. _Please. I’m ready, I swear it. You won’t regret it.”

And normally, Cas looking at him like that, blue eyes wide and desperate — Dean would say yes.

But he _can’t. _Purgaea’s soldiers might not be as well-trained, but they’re even more vicious in combat than Hellenia's, and Dean’s already strategizing how to keep Sam away from the worst of it. No matter how good Cas is getting, he’s still young.

Dean can’t do his job if he’s worried about _both _of them.

“I’m sorry,” he says, looking right back and hoping Cas gets how much he means it. “But no. You’re not ready.”

Cas stares at him for another moment, and then his grip slackens and he quietly gets up and walks out of the hall.

Cas doesn’t speak to him the entire week before they leave, which isn’t hard, since Dean’s busy with preparations.

Still. Dean has no idea how long he’s going to be gone, this time, and a part of him resents the cold shoulder. He’s going to miss Cas, maybe more than anyone, since Sam’s coming, too. If he thought there was a way to take him with him without worrying about it, he’d do it in a heartbeat.

But nope, Cas spends the last week they would have had together ignoring him.

And by the time it’s the last _day, _ and Dean’s all packed up and heading down to the courtyard, he’s pretty sure Cas isn’t even going to bother saying _goodbye. _Dean is heavily leaning more toward anger than hurt, although there’s enough of both that he’s tempted to just hunt the stupid brat down and get a damn goodbye hug whether he’s talking to him or not.

But whatever. If this makes Cas feel better, then fine. Dean’s _mostly_ sure he’s not going to die or anything, and even if he does, he supposes he and Cas have already said the important stuff.

What’s one last goodbye, right?

“Alright, brother?” Benny asks, when Dean absolutely doesn’t stalk toward his horse with his things in tow.

“Fine,” he mutters, and Benny raises his brows.

“Well, I’d hate to see your lousy.”

“Shut up.”

It’s another hour before they’ve made sense of things in the courtyard and just beyond the gate, making sure everyone and everything is accounted for. They’ll collect the rest of the troops from outposts along the way.

Dean is just about to mount his horse and lead everyone out when Sam grabs his arm.

“Wait,” he says, eyes bright. “I think that’s Cas.”

Dean turns around so fast he nearly slips on the cobblestones, and sure enough, Cas is running down the steps of the Hall, weaving through the crowd until he’s close enough to launch himself into Dean’s arms.

It’s a good thing they’re already open.

“Thought you forgot I existed,” he mumbles in Cas’s ear, although he’s so fucking relieved, it’s hard to hold onto his anger.

“I didn’t.”

“Well, who knows how long I’ll be gone. You better not.”

“I doubt I’ll be able to think of anything else,” Cas retorts, and Dean tries not to smile. “In fact, it’s sure to interfere with my training; you should probably just take me with you.”

Dean sighs, but he doesn’t let go.

“You know I can’t,” he says quietly, and he feels Cas nod.

“I know.”

Eventually, Cas releases him, stepping back with determined eyes, although they look a little damp.

“You had better come back alive,” he informs Dean, voice rough in a way that’s crazy on a seventeen-year-old, a way that usually has Dean inwardly laughing but sure as hell holds his attention right now. “I will train hard while you’re gone, and next time — next time you leave this place, you will take me with you.”

Dean swallows.

And even though there’s no way to predict the future, no way to know when and what circumstances ‘next time’ will be, there’s really only one answer here.

“Okay.”

Cas nods, and then he falls back, waiting to see them off.

Dean mounts his horse, giving the signal to follow him, and with one last glance at Cas, he starts toward the castle gate.

More than ever, he wishes he didn’t have to go.

Cas feels like a fool for wasting that last week sulking in his bunk, but it’s done with, now, and all he can do is write letters and hope he receives answers.

Beyond that, he trains.

Being left behind while Sam and Dean risk their lives at the border is _infuriating. _This is what Cas was meant for, what he’s trained for his whole life, and knowing that it’s just not quite enough — it burns. The longer he goes without receiving any letters, the worse the feeling gets, and Cas is going so hard in training, Bobby moves him up a rank early so he stops terrorizing his old rank’s new additions.

Cas is satisfied with that; all it means is that he works a little harder, and the harder he works, the better he gets.

He refuses to be left behind again.

He refuses to have to live with being _useless._

Cas spends his time before dinner with Valencia in the courtyard, helping her catch up where Sam is no longer able. She does wonders for lifting his mood, but sometimes when they eat lunch or rest during breaks or sit together at dinner, they fall quiet, and Cas thinks she looks a little sad.

He doesn’t have to ask to know she misses them, too.

The castle has that empty feeling, again. It’s just him and Valencia and Jo at the table, and Jo is grumpy for the first several weeks.

“Sam went. I don’t know why Mom wouldn’t let me.”

Cas feels her pain. If he were Jo’s age, he’s not sure he could have tolerated being left here.

“Because your mother’s not an ass,” Valencia mutters, and Jo gives her a considering look.

“You don’t think Sam should have gone?”

Valencia shrugs.

“I think he was going to go either way.”

“Not what I asked,” Jo counters, and Valencia smiles, a small, bitter thing.

“No, I don’t think he should have gone. But what I think doesn’t matter, apparently.”

Cas sympathizes with her, as well. It’s hard to have your opinions ignored, but the Winchester brothers are strong-willed people, and they don’t always see reason.

“Dean will keep him safe,” Cas assures her, and he believes that. Dean would do anything to keep Sam safe.

And even though Cas also believes Dean is the best knight out there, that he is sure to emerge triumphant from whatever battle he meets — Cas still wishes he could be there, too, could be someone keeping _Dean _safe.

Someday.

“I know,” Valencia says, tone light, though her eyes are troubled. “But that’s a little worrisome, too.”

And Cas understands exactly what she means, because he’s worried about that, too.

_Someday, _he tells himself again.

The days pass, and Cas is selfishly glad that Valencia’s so far behind in her training that there was never any question of her going along. At twenty-one, she would almost certainly have ridden out with the rest of them, otherwise, and much as Cas enjoys Jo’s company at dinner and in training, or visiting Donna and Rowena, he thinks he’d be terribly lonely without Valencia.

His sister comes to visit in the spring, and Cas spends the entire two weeks sleeping in the castle, curled up in the enormous four-poster bed right between the two of them.

It’s different than sleeping beside Dean, but it carries much of the same comfort, and once again, Cas is sad to see his sister go.

“I’ll ask Michael to send reinforcements,” she promises, hugging him tightly. “Even if you can sustain this, you shouldn’t have to.”

He knows she’s not talking about Lawrence, right then, and he hopes Michael agrees.

Perhaps then, they’ll come home sooner.

After Anna’s visit, Valencia invites him for sleepovers in her room, but when Bobby finds out, he says it’s not appropriate.

Sometimes Cas sneaks out and does it anyway, because there are days he misses Sam and Dean so badly he can’t help but want the extra comfort, and though she never says anything, he thinks Valencia needs it, too.

The weather gets hot, and they hear that the fighting has picked up considerably. Cas gets no more than one letter a month, and even in the dried ink, he thinks he can feel Sam and Dean’s exhaustion.

_This is such bullshit, _ Dean writes. _Every time we gain some ground, it’s like they just remultiply and push back, _ _or worse, we have to chase them around. And they keep sending raiding parties to the towns, but we never know when, so we pretty much have to divide up groups to stand guard. It’s been a long time since we’ve been on _ any _ kind of terms with Purgaea, let alone good ones, so we have no idea how many of them _ _there _ _are or what exactly they’re looking for. They could be hoping to trigger a treaty, like Hellenia did, or they might want to expand their territory, _ or _maybe they’re just wearing us down before they launch a full scale invasion._

_ We’ve tried sending scouts, but I swear the whole damn country is just fucking _ woods _. . ._

Cas reads their letters, and he tries to console and encourage them in his letters back, and otherwise, he trains.

Because there’s nothing he can do from here; the only thing he can do is make sure that next time, he’s right there with them.

It’s a fairly mild summer, although there are some days Cas wants to blow off training and collapse in the shadiest spot he can find, and at the end of July, Cas has another heat.

“Looks like you’re settling into a cycle,” Ellen tells him. “You’ll probably start havin’ them two to three times a year. Always depends on the person.”

It’s not good news. Cas doesn’t want to settle in a cycle; once a year was bad enough, and based on the first day, this heat will be as bad as or worse than the last one.

Dean is never far from his thoughts, nowadays, and several times, Cas catches those thoughts overlapping with what he’s currently doing. It’s strange to think about Dean helping him even though there’s no chance of it happening, but he’s not quite able to stop himself; and in some ways, it feels like everything’s burning hotter because of it.

He feels desperate and out of sorts, and his body seems to _want _in ways Cas can neither understand nor satisfy.

On the third day, Jo joins him for breakfast, frowning at the cloth bag on the nightstand.

“Are you seriously not using that?” she asks, and it takes him a moment to realize what she’s talking about.

Given that his current method of dealing was — _adequate, _he’d pretty much forgotten that was there.

“No. It’s not necessary.”

“Says you,” she mutters, then hesitates. “That’s cool, you know. Whatever you wanna do. But it does help.”

“I’m managing.”

She tilts her head.

“Are you — afraid?”

He looks startled.

“No,” he says after a beat, but it must have lasted too long, because Jo frowns.

And then she asks an utterly baffling question.

“Is it — is it because of your wedding night?”

“My wedding night?”

“You know.” She looks embarrassed. “I know you guys had to — do that. And Mom said you don’t talk about that stuff in Eden, so it was probably — well, it probably sucked. I would have been _terrified. _At any age, if I really didn’t know what was going on, but definitely when I was thirteen.”

Cas thinks back to his wedding night, trying to understand what she might be talking about, but Jo continues.

“But like — it helps a lot. And I really think it’ll be different now, since you, y’know, have control over the situation and actually know what’s going on.”

Cas just stares, and she winces.

“But I totally get it. I just — I feel so bad for you, and Dean’s not taking responsibility — not that he’s here right now, anyway — and it’s not fair for you have to suffer for no good reason.”

He’s so very lost.

“Thank you,” he says, touching her hand. “I appreciate that. But — what are you talking about? What — what happened on my wedding night?”

She stares, opening her mouth and then shutting it. Then she gestures at the cloth bag.

“Um. You know. _That. _ Except — Dean’s — oh, my god,” she mutters, burying her face in her hands. Cas might find it a little amusing, except if he’s understanding her correctly, he’s a little shocked. “How am I the daughter of a _doctor_?”

“Jo,” he says, astounded. “Are you — do you think Dean, uh —” what was the word Ellen had used? “Penetrated me on our wedding night?”

Jo makes a small, horrified noise.

“_Cas_,” she hisses, vaguely mournful.

“Sorry,” he says, although he has no idea what he’s being sorry for.

Suddenly, Jo’s hands fall away and she sits up straight.

“Wait — are you saying he _didn’t_?”

Cas hesitates. Anna told him not to ever talk to anyone about the wedding night, but Jo brought it up first.

“Well, no. Why would he?”

There’s a strange mix of surprise and relief on her face.

“Um, because that’s what you’re supposed to do on a wedding night? And since it was an alliance marriage, Bobby and the scary Edenish lady were supposed to make sure you did it, which — _gross._” She shakes her head, smiling a little. “Damn. I wonder how he got out of that one.”

Cas has no answer for that, though; mostly, he’s shocked.

_That’s _what they were supposed to do on their wedding night?

There’s a brief sort of numbness as he processes this, but once he has, once he’s tried to imagine it happening like Jo said, this monumental thing he lied about not being afraid of and is still convinced his body may not be meant to do —

There’s a rush of gratitude, so intense his eyes sting with it.

“It’s Dean,” he manages. “He — he always finds a way.”

Because Dean is kind and generous, and even though Cas was a stranger, he looked out for him and let him be a knight and _oh, _Cas misses him so very much right now.

“Hey, don’t worry,” Jo says, apparently misreading Cas’s expression. “I won’t tell anybody.”

Cas isn’t sure what the rules are for talking about someone _else’s _wedding night, but if Jo thinks it should stay a secret, then he appreciates her commitment.

And then it occurs to him, for the first time ever, that maybe Anna lied. Maybe it’s not that Lawrencians don’t talk about their wedding nights — Jo seemed to have no problems bringing it up — but that Cas, specifically, should not talk about his.

Because something was supposed to happen, and apparently that something had to do with the alliance, and Dean still didn’t do it.

“We’d get in trouble, if people knew,” he clarifies, and Jo makes a face.

“_So _much trouble. We have the pissiest king on the planet, I swear to God.”

Ah. So all this time, there’s been much more than Cas understood.

And Dean bore that burden alone.

Jo changes the subject, and shortly thereafter, takes his empty tray and wishes him well.

And even though Cas is getting clammy and hot again, can feel the next wave starting up, he determinedly ignores it, hauling himself to the desk and pulling out some stationery.

_Dear Dean,_

_ I don’t know if I’ve ever told you, but I’m very happy here. Happier than I think I could be anywhere else. You’re my family, as much as my sister, and there are not words for how much that means to me. For how much I appreciate _ _ everything _ _ you’ve done. _

_ I am considerably less happy now that you’re away. I won’t ask you to come home soon, because I know you don’t control such things, but be aware that I hope for it every minute of every day._

_ I miss you. It’s difficult to bear, how much I miss you._

_ I hope you’re safe._

_ Yours,_

_ Cas_

Cas supposes Dean may be surprised and confused to receive the letter, abrupt and out of turn, but he has Ellen send it anyway.

It’s strange, he thinks, how overwhelming it all can be, even though Dean is so far away.

He wonders if this is part of being in love, but decides it doesn’t matter.

What matters is that Cas wants to be at his side, always, and he is ready to do everything he can to make that happen.

Michael does ultimately send reinforcements, apparently still feeling he has a score to settle with Purgaea, but he refuses to do so until they’ve negotiated some kind of plan.

It takes a few months to agree on — “Because Michael is an incomparable fusspot,” Anna writes — and then it takes a while to implement, because Lawrence and Eden intend to take the capital.

Purgaea is very preoccupied with sending wave after wave to the border, but Eden will be going around, through Lettra and the northern lands, and crossing the mountains from the other side to march on the capital at the same time Lawrence tries to push through.

It makes Cas anxious. Purgaea’s capital is right in the heart of their vast wilderness, and no longer having the rest of Lawrence at the army’s back — having them surrounded by Purgaean land, their ultimate success riding on their ability to move all the way to the capital — feels somehow much more real and terrifying than anything up to this point has.

Cas sleeps poorly the entire month, but he doesn’t lose a single match.

Days after his birthday, they receive news that Lawrence has seized the capital. Purgaea’s army is depleted and scattered, and the terms of their surrender are yet to be fully negotiated.

Further news trickles in; Lawrence and Eden suffered minimal casualties, though Purgaea’s numbers were immense. Despite those numbers, their inadequate training ultimately decided things; once Lawrence summoned the reserves from all the various posts throughout the country and begin their march, Purgaea was easily overwhelmed.

Unfortunately, they’re also being as difficult as possible in the negotiations.

_It’s like they don’t understand how fucked they are, _ Dean sends, frustration apparent. _We have their capit__a__l. Their army’s in shambles. We could slaughter the entire damn country if we wanted, and _ _ yet _.

_We’ve turned the castle inside out, for the most part, and it looks like they’ve been planning this stupid war for a while; __there’s shit tons of research on Lawrence, so we’re pretty sure they know that we __won’t_ _slaughter the entire country, and it means they’re being completely uncooperative, short of still trying to fight us._

_ It’s a giant fucking headache, is what it is. I just want to go home. Seriously, there are not words for how badly I want to be _ <strike> _where you are_ </strike> _ at the castle right now._

_ I don’t believe in looting, but I found this badass carved wooden box in what I think is an attic and since it had like, five layers of dust on it, I’m just gonna bring it home for you._

_ Shit. Maybe it should have been a surprise._

_ Anyway, it’s probably not cursed, and one thing Purgaea’s known for is their wood carvings, so — you’re welcome._

_ Probably because of all the fucking trees (seriously, Benny bitched the whole march here. I made fun of him, but I never wanna see woods again.)_

_ God _ _ damn, _ _ I can’t wait to be home again._

Cas, for his part, is glad Dean didn’t make it a surprise. Knowing he has a gift to anticipate makes it feel like he receives it _twice, _in his opinion.

When he writes Dean back, he tells him so.

Still, Dean didn’t exaggerate the difficulties of negotiation. October arrives, the days inching past like some kind of temporal snail, and by the time the November Feast comes — a far more quiet and meager affair, the castle still woefully empty — Cas has half a mind to ride out to Purgaea and fetch Sam and Dean himself. Surely everyone else can handle whatever remains, he thinks, unrepentantly selfish.

It doesn’t help that Sam updates him, as well.

_I can’t believe I ever enjoyed my diplomacy lessons on treaty negotiations. As nice as it was not to be sitting helpless at home for once, part of me thinks I would have just stayed back if I knew this is what awaited at the end._

_ I’m not the only one; I think this is more exhausting than the actual war. The troops are out of their mind with boredom. Charlie spent the last week playing a kick-ball game with the kids in the village. Frankly, I think the king is being — well, a dumbass, because if they’d just come talked to us in the first place, everything could have been avoided, and they would be much better off. It’s not that they don’t have resources, here, but they don’t do them any good if they’re not open to trade and they can’t produce enough food on their own._

_ Anyway, Dean’s the worst of all. _ _He’s actually pretty good at this, or I would write Dad petitioning to send him _ _home_ _ early. He’s practically crawling up the walls._

_ He talks about you a lot, too, and even when he doesn’t, I can tell he’s thinking of you. I miss you, too, Cas. Life is — kind of stressful, honestly, when I don’t get to hang out reading with you every day. Hopefully we’ll see you by Christmas._

It gives Cas all sorts of warm feelings, especially since Dean has never specifically _stated _that he missed Cas (although he responded to Cas’s sentimental non-sequitur with a ‘jesus, is this emotional blackmail to make me come home sooner? Because if it was actually my choice, then it’s working.’ Cas likes to think things like that mean, ‘I miss you, too.’)

Of course, it also just makes him miss them _more._

It’s not until two weeks into December that they receive word they’ll be coming home, and although the meager crowd in the Hall gets drunk and celebrates, the reality is that the march all the way back to the castle will take weeks. There’s pretty much unanimous agreement to forestall Christmas and New Years — although a few people wonder if you’re allowed to do that — until everyone’s home, but it’s still disappointing.

Worse still, a spate of bad snow storms means everyone comes to camp in the hall again, and Cas goes a little out of his mind, unable to do anything but sit and read and occasionally talk to people. They’ve barely been back to the usual routine for two days before Cas has _another _heat.

It’s awful. Helping himself doesn’t seem to work quite so well this time around, leaving him still edgy and overwarm and lasting hardly any time at all before his body returns to a state of terrible urgency, and the only good part of it is that he’s back out on the field after a mere two days of suffering.

Less nice is all the sympathy he receives from the people in his new rank. There’s several pitying remarks about having to deal with it by himself, and even more reassurances that Dean will be back by his next one, the implication clear.

These people think Dean _helps_ him.

For some reason, Cas is too embarrassed to tell them otherwise. No matter how Jo and Ellen might reassure him, he feels unbelievably pathetic, sweaty and fevered and clinging to his bedsheets, wishing Dean was there.

Even if Dean was _home, _he wouldn’t be. Why on earth is Cas still thinking about it?

It’s very frustrating, but it passes, and ten days into the New Year, a messenger arrives to tell them they may expect the army’s return in three days.

Three days.

_Three days._

Cas is _so _sick of waiting, but he’s used to it by now; still, three more days suddenly sounds like forever.

He makes it through. He nearly loses several matches for stupid, embarrassing reasons, avoiding Bobby’s speculative looks all the while, but he makes it through.

The night before, he hardly sleeps at all, so excited is he. He hopes Sam and Dean don’t look different. He hopes they haven’t grown beards, like some of the army did last time. Cas will be deeply annoyed if they finally show up and he can hardly see their faces.

He hopes things aren’t _different _ when they come back. As happy as he was by the time Dean had left, as much as he thinks things were ultimately better — they _were _different, when Dean first came home last time.

_That _is less of a happy memory.

He falls asleep shortly before dawn, and when he wakes sometime around noon, a covered tray by the side of his bunk, he’s embarrassed to find that Bobby has excused him from training today.

How could he possibly _know_?

Cas is grateful, nonetheless, dressing and going off in search of Valencia, who he thinks must be experiencing the same nerves.

She seems fine, however; though she appears to have excused herself from training today, she seems absolutely relaxed as she sits in the kitchen, nibbling at a plate of muffins and reading a book.

Cas joins her, and Layla makes them hot chocolate after securing a promise to not tell anyone. It would be a very relaxing winter afternoon, indeed, if only his heart would settle down and he could focus on his book.

Around four o’ clock, the gate horn sounds, and they both freeze, meeting each other’s eyes over their books.

And then Cas is bolting out of the kitchen, not a thought to spare for the mess he’s leaving behind, and he just hopes Valencia has followed.

Of course, Cas must endure the same agonizing wait as he did last time. He’s missing the comfort of Sam’s hand in his, holding on tight while they wait, but then Valencia finally arrives and seems to understand without asking, and with this added support, he manages to be patient.

And finally, _finally, _the gate opens, the first of the group trickling in.

Cas squeezes Valencia’s hand tighter, and she makes a face at him, although she doesn’t try and pull away.

And then Dean and Sam appear, riding through and stopping to dismount and hand the reins to the stablehands, and Cas —

Cas can’t help himself. He doesn’t think twice about it, dropping Valencia’s hand and darting forward.

Dean looks up, catching sight of Cas and starting to grin, face flushed from cold beneath the absurd furry hat he’s wearing, and then Cas is throwing his arms around him, clutching tightly to the back of his coat.

“You’re getting kind of heavy to do this kind of thing,” is the first thing Dean says to him, more of a grunt, and Cas digs his fingers in a little harder than necessary.

Dean just laughs, wrapping his own arms around Cas and lifting him off his feet in clear opposition to what he just tried to say.

Cas doesn’t mind. He just buries his face in Dean’s neck, breathing in his wonderful scent, and holds on.

He’s dismayed to find how familiar and not-familiar that scent is. The older he’s gotten, the more Cas has noticed how nice Dean smells, the nicest out of anyone Cas has ever met, but Dean’s been gone a year, and though Cas sometimes goes into his room — just to look at the books — his scent there has faded considerably.

So the first breath Cas takes is something of a shock. It’s not _different _ than he remembers, but it’s — it’s _more, _and scenting him again is making Cas feel lightheaded and off-balance. Still, it’s _Dean_, and Cas has the strange thought that he envies the coat on Dean’s back. This must be the best hug they’ve ever shared, and a part of Cas wishes he could just stay here for hours.

That _is _a strange thought, though, and someone just coughed, so Cas steps back, settling for examining Dean’s face instead.

Dean is as clean-shaven as ever, Cas notes with satisfaction, though at least half the other men who’ve come through the gate have been indistinguishable from their beards. Cas stares freely, taking in all the familiar but too-long-absent details, tracing the bridge of his nose and his cheekbones and his mouth with his gaze, and suddenly, all feels right with the world once again.

Dean’s smile softens into something smaller but no less warm, green eyes crinkling above. It’s all so very beloved, and somehow, it seems like the most natural thing in the world for Cas to lean forward and press his lips to Dean’s.

There’s a chorus of chuckles and whistles, an accompaniment Cas barely registers, too preoccupied with the startling sensation of Dean’s mouth against his. Dean’s lips are soft, dry from the cold, but still warm, and Cas can feel the fading traces of his smile the longer he stays put. He tilts his head, instinctive and experimental, and feels Dean’s sharp intake of breath.

Abruptly, he snaps out of it, stepping back and meeting Dean’s wide, shocked eyes.

“Um,” Dean starts, and Cas feels the shame at his back like a blazing fireplace when you’ve accidentally stood too close to it.

He’s not sure, all the rules about kissing. He’s not sure why he kissed Dean in the first place — it simply seemed like the right thing to do — but Dean’s stunned expression tells him that it was probably _not _the right thing to do.

He racks his brain for some kind of solution, terror coursing through him, and then he thinks of it.

“Welcome home,” he says quickly, and then turns to Sam, wrapping him in a brief, tight hug he can barely focus on before gripping the front of his tunic and kissing him firmly on the mouth.

The courtyard falls dead silent.

“Welcome home, Sam,” he tells him, smiling brightly, though he’s sure he must be red as a tomato.

There’s a long silence, Sam wide-eyed and open-mouthed in a way that still doesn’t make him half as uncomfortable as Dean’s similar expression.

Cas clears his throat, trying his best to look confused.

“Sorry. Should I not have . . . ? In, um, in Eden, we — do that. When, uh, someone close returns home after — after a long time away.”

In Eden, they don’t even hug in public — the closest Cas has ever seen anyone get is scenting another person’s throat in a very deliberate performance — but he’s pretty sure Dean won’t know that.

Cas gives Sam an imploring look, and Sam blinks.

“Oh. Right.” He coughs. “Yeah, yeah, I, um, I forgot about that.”

The silence next to him stretches on, and when Cas finally dares to look at Dean, he’s frowning.

Oh, dear.

“You didn’t kiss me last time,” he says flatly, searching Cas’s face, and Cas swallows.

And then he remembers.

He squints back.

“You threw me over your shoulder and ran around the courtyard.”

Dean opens his mouth, then shuts it, frown still in place as he finally moves his gaze to Sam.

They both wait, Cas trying not to hold his breath or do anything that might reveal how completely full of it he is, and eventually Dean looks down and shrugs.

“Yeah, alright.” He clears his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. “Well, if you don’t wanna get thrown over my shoulder again, you better move. Other people still need to come in.”

Cas doesn’t think he would mind, and even if he did, he probably deserves it, but he hastily stumbles back, and Sam and Dean join him to wait for the rest of the procession.

Curiously, Valencia just sort of nods at them.

“Hey, guys.”

Sam takes a deep breath and looks at her.

“Hey. How are you?”

She shrugs.

“Pretty good. Cold as fuck,” she amends, and there’s a sharp note to her voice.

Sam winces.

“Sorry. You can probably go ins—”

“I’m good.”

“Right.” There’s a pause, and Cas tries not to eavesdrop too obviously, hovering close by Dean’s side for warmth. Dean doesn’t appear to mind; he seems deep in thought about something or other.

Cas hopes that doesn’t last. He doesn’t want to be selfish, but he’d like Dean’s attention at some point this evening, and he thinks that, as his husband, he may perhaps have slightly greater priority than anyone else here.

He suppresses a sigh. At the very least, he can probably get away with sleeping in Dean’s room tonight.

“So,” Sam starts, and Cas mentally refocuses on the current conversation. “You, um. You didn’t write me.”

“Nope,” Valencia agrees cheerfully.

Sam purses his lips.

“It was a _year._”

She tilts her head, shrugging.

“I didn’t have anything to say.”

Sam looks as frustrated as Cas has ever _seen _him, but then they’re quiet once more, and they all wait in silence while everyone files in.

It’s not the reunion Cas envisioned, exactly, but as he stands there, trying not to lean into Dean’s side, he still feels lightheaded with happiness.

The important thing is that they’re _home._

Cas kissed Dean.

This is a fact, a fact Dean has a mostly-acceptable explanation for and yet is inexplicably stuck on.

It’s understandable, he reasons. There was just — there was something weird about the whole damn thing, he thinks, even if he can’t put his finger it.

Or maybe he can, because the _other _new fact he keeps tripping over —

Cas kissed _Sam._

An Edenish custom, he said, and sure, okay. That’s cool. The memory of Cas pushing up on his toes, a distance that didn’t seem as far as Dean would expect, and pressing his mouth to Dean’s is considerably less — _disturbing, _in that context. If that’s what they do in Eden, then fine. It’s just a kiss. A chaste, dry, close-mouthed kiss, absolutely meaningless beyond a way to say, ‘oh, hey, welcome back home, I missed you.’

Nothin’ weird about it.

Until you factor in Cas’s ginormous crush on Sam, of course, which Dean is definitely doing, now.

Because the thing is, Cas _didn’t_ kiss Dean last time. And he can say what he wants about Dean beating him to the friendly-greeting- punch , but Cas doesn’t kiss his sister, and he didn’t kiss Dean that first time Dean went away, way back when, and yeah, no, Dean cannot, for the life of him, remember Cas kissing _anybody. _Not even on the cheek.

And suddenly Cas is giving greeting pecks out like obligatory Winter Solstice offerings to the townspeople?

It’s suspicious as hell — kind of like Cas’s behavior after those kisses — and the more Dean thinks about it, the more he’s sure he knows what’s actually going on here.

The _only _good thing about going to war with Purgaea, Dean had thought, was that it would give Cas some time to get over his thing for Sam.

But apparently, absence really _does _make the heart grow fonder, because not only is Cas still in love with Sam, he’s concocting elaborate schemes to secretly indulge those lovelorn feelings.

And the fucker’s using _Dean _to do it.

“Custom my ass,” he mutters to himself, and Benny pauses mid-swig.

“You say somethin’, brother?”

“Nope.”

And it’s not like it’s a big deal. Certainly, Dean doesn’t care about the kiss — Cas can give him as many familial little pecks as he wants, if it makes him feel better — but he is irked that Cas is playing some fucked up game here and forcing Dean to be involved, as well.

It’s just — it’s inconsiderate, is what it is, and what’s more, now Dean is all worried; if Cas’s crush on Sam is _worse _than it was before, enough that he’s inventing fake-ass sounding cultural practices just so he can get up close and personal —

Dean thinks about it, thinks about the soft little brush of lips Cas gave him in contrast with the way he fucking seized Sam by the collar and attacked his mouth, and nearly bends his fork with how hard he’s gripping it.

Yeah, no. It was cute before, though mostly sad, but it’s getting way out of hand. If a year apart just made Cas think he has to try harder, in sneaky, underhanded ways — that he has the nerve to _lie _to Dean about — well, enough is enough. Clearly Dean’s kid-glove tactic isn’t working.

He’s not sure how he’s going to do it, but he’s going to have to put an end to this thing once and for all.

Right after he has another drink, takes a bath, and gets a good night’s sleep.

Dean sort of does all that, but instead of stumbling back up to his room to soak in the tub and then crawl into bed, he finds himself with company.

And maybe it’s the beer, but he has — mixed feelings about it.

Cas doesn’t even ask, just trails after him, and even though Dean’s a little frustrated with him right now, he’s also been away from home for a year and, well — Cas is kind of part of home, ergo he’s kind of part of what Dean’s been anxious to get back to.

Besides, it’s not Cas’s fault he’s young and stupid enough to think shit like the kisses in the courtyard will change anything about the situation, not the fact that Sam sulked the whole time because he missed his not-girlfriend or the fact that Cas just doesn’t get choices, here.

And sure, maybe after he and Dean have heirs, he can go out and find love — but Dean’s not ready for that, probably won’t be for years. And if Dean’s not ready, there’s no way in hell Cas is.

So for right now? Cas just needs to focus on that knighthood he was so gung-ho about and forget all the rest.

Dean’s well on his way to _brooding _by the time he makes it to his room and starts stripping down for his bath. He thinks he hears the door shut behind him, followed by a startled gasp, but he’s seriously considering skipping the bath altogether, so he’s kind of in a hurry to get in the hot water before he changes his mind.

It takes him a bit of wrestling to get his pants off, but then he’s kicking them aside and wobbling into the bathroom, and fuck _yeah, _hot baths are amazing.

There’s a long sigh from behind him.

“You didn’t order me a bath,” Cas complains, and Dean tips his head back, smirking.

“Consider it a late Christmas present.”

Cas narrows his eyes, blurry and upside down.

“I’m sleeping here tonight either way.”

“Yeah? Somethin’ you wanna talk about?” _Like macking on Sam in the courtyard? _he doesn’t say.

Cas frowns, and if he weren’t standing all the way in the doorway, Dean would be tempted to boop it. So fucking serious.

“No.”

“Suit yourself.”

Dean finally musters some energy to start washing himself, and the sound of footsteps tells him Cas has probably gone to wait in bed.

Still, Cas calls in every few minutes, apparently checking to make sure Dean hasn’t drowned.

“I’m not _that _drunk.”

“Well, you seem that drunk.”

“I’m not.”

Cas sighs, audible even from fifteen feet away.

“I wouldn’t know.”

“Yeah? Didn’t hit the sauce while I was away?”

There’s a long pause, and Dean smiles, practically able to _hear _the frown in the silence.

“What makes you think you being here would stop me, if I wanted to?”

“You’re too young to drink.”

“_What_?” Cas sounds incredulous. “Sam’s been drinking since I came to Lawrence.”

“Sure, but Sam knows his stuff. He can be responsible.”

“_Excuse _ me? I am _extremely _respons—”

“You grew up in Eden, Cas. They don’t drink there, do they? Not openly.” Dean pauses. “But maybe I’m wrong. I mean, what do I know about Edenish customs?”

There’s a long, long silence.

_Bingo._

“No,” Cas finally says. “They don’t.”

“Uh-huh.” Conspicuous lack of argument, check. Dean waits, but Cas says nothing more.

Conspicuous silence? Check.

Dean is just drunk enough to be considering launching a full-scale interrogation tonight, but once he’s dressed and out of the bathroom, he gets a good look at Cas curled up, hair in stark contrast to the white pillowcase and blue eyes drooping, and he abruptly changes his mind.

He’ll figure something out in the morning.

“Knew you’d be asleep.”

Cas squints at him.

“I’m not asleep, Dean.”

“As good as, man.”

Dean puts out the dwindling fire, throwing the room into darkness, and then gets in bed, fluffing his pillow and making himself comfy.

Damn, is it good to be home.

He’s just drifting off into warm, blissful unconsciousness when Cas starts shifting around, and Dean cracks his eye open, peering into the darkness.

He shouldn’t have bothered; a few seconds later, Cas’s fussing is explained as a warm weight settles against Dean’s side, Cas’s arm comfortingly toasty where it loosely wraps around him.

“Uh. What’s up, buddy?” he asks, a little alarmed. It’s not like he hasn’t woken _up _to that before — and he freely admits it’s kind of nice — but that’s always been a coincidence of sleep. Cas always at least starts out on his own side.

But nope, right now he can feel Cas’s cheek, warm through his sleeve where it rests against his arm, and they’re definitely still awake.

Cas sighs.

“I missed you.”

Dean feels his face growing a little warm. Part of his brain is suspicious, thinks this is Cas’s way of buttering him up so he doesn’t call him out on his bullshit with Sam, but Dean has dozens of letters in his pack where Cas said exactly that, so maybe that part of his brain should shut up and go to sleep.

Dean twists a little, putting an arm around Cas in return.

“Yeah. Me, too.”

He lies there, drowsily breathing in Cas’s soft, fresh scent, which is immensely comforting in its familiarity, and it’s like this last little thing clicks in his brain, telling him at long last, he’s home.

Of course, it’s considerably more awkward in the morning, mouth dry as a desert and head pounding as he opens his eyes to way-too-bright sunlight.

There’s something kind of heavy on him, and as soon as Dean redevelops the eye-coordination to look down, he finds that Cas is lying halfway on top of him, head pillowed on Dean’s chest and one hand tucked up under his sleep shirt, skin against skin.

Dean’s suddenly wide awake.

He’s frozen for a moment, feeling Cas inhale and exhale against him, and he can’t decide if he should just pretend he saw nothing and go back to sleep — it’d be mean to risk disturbing Cas, right? — or if he should get some distance as soon as possible, because as much as Dean’s reasonably chill about cuddling, the slight differences between this and even how they fell asleep last night feel like — like —

Well, they kind of feel like crossing a line?

Which is just _stupid. _Cas is a kid, like a little brother, so obviously there’s nothing inappropriate about it, and Dean should probably just let it go — but his stomach is warm where Cas’s hand has wormed under his shirt, and he’s drooling on Dean’s chest a little, and come to think of it, Dean wouldn’t hesitate to roll his eyes and shove Sammy off him, so yeah, that’s definitely in order.

He hesitates.

Well, maybe he won’t _shove _him. He can kind of just — maybe —

Dean gently reaches under his shirt, clasping Cas’s hand and guiding it back out while he painstakingly shifts away.

Only to find Cas’s other hand, sneakily tucked between them with a surprisingly firm grip on the side of Dean’s shirt.

He suppresses a sigh, turning on his side a little, and wriggles his other arm up so he can pry that hand away, too.

Cas suddenly starts, blue eyes blinking open, and Dean goes still as he lifts his head from where it’s slid onto Dean’s shoulder.

“Dean?”

Cas’s eyes flicker in confusion to where Dean’s gripping both his wrists.

When he looks back up, his eyes are questioning, and for whatever reason, Dean’s face goes hot.

He drops them, squirming back, and Cas has the audacity to frown and lean after him.

“Sorry. I just — I, uh, gotta pee, but you were — anyway, I didn’t wanna wake you.”

Cas blinks, and then slowly, his cheeks start turning red.

Must be getting too hot, now that’s he awake, Dean figures, and finishes getting out of bed, even though it’s fucking cold.

“I’ll, uh, I’ll get the fire goin’ again when I’m done,” he says, and flees.

It’s fine, he decides, shivering his way through his morning piss. Kids are like that. Sam might be the one Cas dreams of marrying, but Dean is the one Cas depends on and looks up to, the one he feels safe and comfortable glomming onto in the dead of the night, and he must be relieved to have him back, looking out for him.

Dean has no fucking clue why his hungover brain is trying to make this weird, because it’s _not._

He spent too long marching in the Purgaean wilderness, he decides.

Still, there’s no question of going back to sleep once he’s done. He’s a little surprised to see that Cas has — he doubts anyone will be training today, given last night’s celebrations, but Cas must be really tired if he’s not only not up before Dean, but he’s sleeping well _past _ _—_ and decides to head down and bring some breakfast back up.

Maybe he can use the opportunity to talk to Cas about Sam.

He takes his time in the kitchen, chatting with Layla and the rest as they get everything ready for breakfast and he helps move things into the serveware. It’s at least an hour before he has a tray ready and he heads back up to the room. Hopefully Cas is up.

He’s just emerging from the bathroom when Dean opens the door.

“Oh, there you are,” he says, voice rough from sleep and definitely ridiculous, and Dean smiles.

“Me and breakfast,” he corrects him, nudging the door shut. Instead of going for the table, Cas crawls right back in the bed, pulling the blanket up to his chin.

“Really?”

Cas scowls.

“It’s cold.”

Dean tsks, but Cas has a point, so he sets the tray down on top of the blanket and settles in next to him.

“Why aren’t we eating in the hall?” he asks, and Dean hesitates.

“What, you tired of me already?” he jokes, and Cas pauses as he reaches for a biscuit, a frown on his face.

“No. I’ve barely seen you. Last night you spent dinner drinking and playing around with everyone else, and then you forgot to order me a bath, and then we went to sleep.”

“I didn’t know you were gonna sleep in here!” Dean protests, and Cas gives him a wounded look.

“Did you not want me to?”

“What? No, I just — I —” Dean shuts his mouth, breathing out through his nose. How the hell is _he _feeling guilty, when Cas is the one who launched some absurd campaign to seduce Sam the moment they got through the gate and now Dean is the one who has to fix it?

“Eat your damn breakfast,” he settles on, but even as Cas takes a bite of his biscuit, he looks forlorn.

Dean suppresses a sigh. So fucking _sensitive._

“’Course I want you here,” he mutters. “Didn’t see you for half-a-century, it felt like.”

Cas pauses, and then smiles, a small, pleased thing, and _ugh, _how is this Dean’s life?

Especially since now they have to have a _talk._

“So, uh.” Dean’s not really sure how to do this. Should he be blunt, or like, work up to it? Is it okay to try and spare Cas’s pride by not saying anything outright, or will it definitely just go over the kid’s head?

Christ.

“Yes?” Cas prompts after a minute, head tilting, and Dean forgot just how _adorable _that is.

“So, Sam’s back,” he says bluntly.

Cas looks baffled for a moment, and then he smiles, eyes soft.

“Yes. You did well looking after him, Dean. I knew you would.”

Which is nice, but not the point Dean’s trying to make.

Besides, Dean was ultimately forced to admit that Sam could pretty much hold his own, and aside from general leadership and pep talks after the rough days, not a lot of looking-after was needed.

Still, Cas has got that proud-slash-admiring look he always gets when someone tells stories about dumb-but-kinda-cool shit Dean’s done, so he doesn’t correct him.

“Right. But, uh. You must be excited.”

“Yes,” Cas agrees, bobbing his head as he chews. Dean resists the urge to scold him about the crumbs. "Reading by myself isn’t as fun. Though I’ve done a lot of it; Sam has a great deal of catching up to do.”

Dean purses his lips. So Cas has been planning for a while; he’s built up a pile of books for Sam to get through, meaning he’ll be spending a lot of time with Cas, which also means he’ll be distracted from other things, like Valencia.

_Va__lencia_ _. _Maybe that’s how Dean should approach this.

“You and Val still getting along?” he asks.

“Of course. Though, we’ve been lonely without you. I don’t know that I’m as much a comfort to her, but I’m not sure what I would have done if she hadn’t been here.”

Okay, well — that’s good. Dean can’t help but think it’s a little underhanded of Cas, trying to steal Sam out from under her nose when they’re apparently such good friends, but love is a selfish thing with a terrifying ability to help a person weave convoluted tales to justify that selfishness.

He probably doesn’t even realize he’s _doing _it.

“Well, now I’m jealous,” he jokes, but it comes out a little flat, and he frowns inwardly. “Wish we could have been here.”

Cas sighs.

“Me, too. Bobby wouldn’t even let us have sleepovers.”

Dean blinks.

“You and . . . Val?”

“Yes.” Cas huffs. “He said it was ‘inappropriate.’ I sleep with _you _all the time, so it hardly makes sense.”

God damn it, Bobby. If you’re going to make a rule, _explain _it, so Dean doesn’t have to.

“Right. Well, uh. That’s different.”

“How is it—” Cas starts, and then cuts off, frowning. “I don’t see why it’s inappropriate.”

Dean pinches the bridge of his nose.

“It just is, since you’re not married.”

“But she’s slept in here with Sam and us, before,” Cas protests. “And when my sister visited, we all slept in Anna’s room. No one is married in that scenario.”

“Right, sure, but there’s other people around.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

Dean swallows.

It’s simple enough to answer — _because when there’s just two people in a bedroom at night, other people think something’s happening __—_ but since Cas just pointed out that he sleeps in Dean’s room often enough, it feels weird.

“It’s just how it is,” he goes with, although he _knows _Cas is going to keep asking —

“Then why is it okay when you and _I _do it?”

Which stumps Dean for all of five seconds before he remembers the kid’s absolute _favorite _argument for everything.

“Because I’m your husband,” Dean says, patting himself on the back. “It’s what husbands do.”

But if anything, Cas looks _upset._

“So — if we weren’t married, you wouldn’t let me sleep in here?”

Shit.

Like, it would be cool with Dean, obviously, because _he_ knows how it is, but come to think of it, Cas is eighteen now, and for people who are not Cas, that’s sometimes old enough for certain _things_, so other people might just be dumb enough to get the wrong idea, and . . .

“Well — well, no.” Dean doesn’t like that answer, and from the look on Cas’s face, neither does he.

“Oh.”

“But hey, we’re married, so we’re good,” Dean tries, bumping Cas’s knee with his own, but Cas has this funny, pinched look on his face.

“Of course,” he mumbles.

Dean has no idea what to do with that, so he hastily changes the subject.

After all, he had a goal, here.

“So,” he starts, and Cas just nibbles slowly on a piece of bacon, not looking at him. “You know, uh. I, uh, I’m guessing Val missed Sam more than she missed me.”

Cas pauses.

“I’m not sure Valencia measures these things against one another. That seems rather pointless.”

“Well, she might not, I just — I’m just sayin’, that’s probably the case. Since, you know, she and Sam . . .” he trails off, carefully watching for Cas’s reaction.

“She and Sam what?”

_Seriously_? Has Cas just — blocked it all out? Is he living in some kind of fantasy world where there are no obstacles to his epic romance with Sam?

Just how bad did things get while Dean was away?

“They’re — you know.” Dean raises his brows. “They like each other.”

Cas huffs.

“I should hope they like each other. Although, I think they may be quarreling.”

Dean stifles a groan. _Very _bad, apparently. Cas is both in denial and inventing trouble in paradise.

“All couples quarrel.”

Cas stills.

“Are they . . . a couple?”

Dean hesitates.

“I mean, as good as.”

“Oh.” Cas clearly needs a moment to process this devastating news, though Dean’s not really sure _how _it’s news. “Why didn’t she write him, then?”

“Huh?”

“Valencia didn’t write Sam at all while you were away,” Cas informs him, and suddenly a lot of Sam’s weird mood swings while they were gone make _way _more sense.

“He didn’t tell me that.”

“She didn’t tell me, either, but he confronted her, yesterday. Neither of them seemed very happy.”

Aw, fuck. On the one hand, Dean supposes it was unlikely that this thing with Valencia would work out. As cute as they are and as much as Dean’s mentally already added her to the family, the odds of something starting when they’re that young and lasting aren’t great. Dean was hoping the slow burn would save them, but maybe not.

But if Sam doesn’t have a sort-of-girlfriend, how the hell is Dean gonna keep Cas away from him?

He could just forbid Cas, because it is _definitely _forbidden, and even if it weren’t, it’s clearly headed for disaster, but outright telling Cas he’s not allowed is a great way to encourage push back.

God, what a mess.

“Okay, that’s — yeah. Okay. But that doesn’t mean they’re not still — uh. Committed.”

He tries not to feel bad about exaggerating the truth here, because even before this mysterious radio silence, he understood that nobody’s committed to anything except saving everybody’s hides from John’s wrath.

“I see.”

“Which is good,” Dean continues awkwardly. “They’re a — a good match. You know. Well-suited.”

Cas nods.

“They do get along very well.”

“Yeah. But, uh, being well-suited is more than just — getting along well,” he hastens to add, seeing an opportunity. “Sometimes it’s about — other things.”

“Other things?”

“Yep.” Dean takes a deep breath, catching Cas’s gaze and holding it. “There’s some people, no matter how well you get along, that you’re not allowed to love like that.”

Cas stares back at him for a long, endless-feeling moment, and then he looks down.

“I know,” he says quietly, and Dean suddenly feels like a fucking monster.

“It’s just — there’s not really any obstacles between Sam and Val but themselves, right?”

“Right,” Cas mumbles, fingers tightening around the sheet, and Dean winces.

“Cas — I know it’s not fair — I know how you feel -”

Cas looks up sharply, eyes wide, and Dean would laugh if the situation weren’t so unfunny.

Cas is so _obvious; _you’d have to be an idiot not to figure out his feelings for Sam, and Dean likes to think he’s particularly good at recognizing the signs.

But then, Cas also seemed pretty cheerful before they got news of the war; maybe he thought he’d convinced everyone he was over it.

“You know,” Cas whispers.

“Yeah.”

“And you — agree, that it’s — it’s bad?”

Dean nods sadly, and when Cas’s eyes appear to take on an alarming sheen, he starts moving forward on instinct, ready to wrap him in a hug.

Cas jerks back, scrambling off the bed.

“Thank you for breakfast,” he says stiffly. “I think I’m going to go see if the kitchen has any spare honeycakes.”

And then he hurries out of the room, still in his pajamas.

Cas does stop by the kitchen for honeycakes — Layla takes one look at his face and gives him a whole cloth satchel — but then he goes off in search of Sam.

He doesn’t understand why he’s so upset. He’s known for years that being in love often makes people unhappy, and he thought he’d accepted that Dean wouldn’t want that.

Then again, maybe this is where the unhappiness comes in; now that Dean knows, Cas’s feelings will start to make them _both _unhappy.

Sam has also risen late, apparently, and is sitting at breakfast, arms crossed while he and Valencia stare at each other.

They’re not friendly stares, like Cas enjoys sharing with Dean.

They look a little like they’re about to fight.

Even though his chest feels tight and his eyes have that awful, twitchy, stinging sensation, Cas hesitates, wondering if he shouldn’t interrupt.

But then Valencia blinks, eyes flicking to Cas, and she gives him a warm smile. Sam follows her gaze, startled.

“Oh, hey, Cas,” he says, starting to smile, and then stops. “Um, are you — is something wrong?”

Cas swallows, and takes his seat, clutching the bag of honeycakes in his lap.

“Yes. I mean, no. It’s not — it’s not a big deal,” he assures him, voice wavering, and Sam frowns.

“Did Dean do something?”

“Yes, Winchesters can be very insensitive,” Valencia agrees helpfully. “Just look at King John.”

Sam stiffens, and Cas shakes his head.

“No. It’s it’s my own fault.”

“What is ‘it,’ Cas?”

Cas stares hard at the table.

“Do you remember the talk we had about — uh, about Dean and me?”

Sam is quiet for a minute.

“Oh. Um, yeah? I think?”

“It’s not — it isn’t a secret anymore,” Cas says.

There’s a long pause.

“Oh,” Sam utters.

“Yes. He, uh. He told me it was a bad idea.”

Sam sighs, reaching for Cas’s hand.

“Hey. Cas. Look at me.”

When Cas looks up, Sam’s face is blurry.

“Look, Dean’s — he’s complicated. And he _is_ a lot older than you.”

“Why should that make a difference?” Cas demands, frustratedly wiping at his eyes.

“Well, it’s like — um. Like, think if you were in love with Bobby!”

Cas makes a face.

He does _love _ Bobby, but it is _extremely difficult _to imagine feeling about him the way that Cas does about Dean.

“He’s in love with Ellen,” Cas points out. “And even if he weren’t, he — I didn’t know my father, but sometimes I think Bobby is what I’d like him to have been like.”

Sam nods eagerly.

“Right? ‘Cause — ‘cause Bobby’s like, thirty years older than you. So it makes a lot of sense that he feels more like a Dad.”

“Okay,” he concedes. “But — Dean is not thirty years older than me.”

“Yeah, but he _feels _like he is.”

Cas narrows his eyes.

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Right, but — um. Okay, so Dean’s like, seven years older than you, right?”

Cas hesitates.

“It’s closer to six-and-a-half.”

“Okay, six-and-a-half. Now imagine somebody six-and-a-half years younger than you.”

“They’d be eleven.”

“Which must seem really young to you, right?”

“Well, yes. Eleven-year-olds are children.”

Sam brightens.

“Do you see my point?”

Cas thinks he might, but it’s a very offensive point.

“I’m not a child. I’m only two years younger than _you._”

Sam winces.

“True, but — but here’s the thing. There’s like — there’s a thing in between being a child and an adult, and you and I and Valencia—”

“Please leave me out of this,” Valencia interrupts pleasantly.

“—are still there. But Dean’s an adult — sort of — well, more than us, anyway — so in _his _mind, being in love with you feels like the same thing as if Bobby were in love with you. Or if you were in love with an eleven-year-old.”

Cas just stares at him, completely unimpressed.

“I don’t understand,” he says flatly. “Those are not the same things at _all._”

“Well, no — but for Dean, it seems like it. Some people would say he’s right. And — maybe, um, maybe he sort of is? Maybe it’s — too soon.”

Cas hesitates. As much as he doesn’t like that answer, Sam has said something rather significant, something that has Cas drawing in a hopeful breath.

“Too soon?’ he repeats, just to be sure, and Sam nods.

“Yeah. Right now, you’re not a child, but you’re still — young. Enough that it might be better to — you know. Wait.”

As frustrating as this whole conversation is — and as much as Cas absolutely _despises _waiting — it seems to Cas that Sam is saying his feelings, in and of themselves, are not the problem.

That someday, there might be a way for Cas to be in love with Dean without it making Dean unhappy.

And Cas is beginning to think that, so long as _Dean_ isn’t unhappy with it, Cas won’t be either.

“Wait until _when_?” he asks.

“Um. Until you’re . . . old enough.”

“And when is that?”

Sam hesitates.

“Well, it — it varies.”

Cas narrows his eyes.

“Varies _how_?”

“Um. You know, it — depends on the person.”

Cas suppresses the urge to shake him.

“Alright,” he grits out. “When do _you _think I’ll be — old enough?”

Sam shrugs.

“I guess — we kind of have to wait and see?”

That is the _worst _answer in the history of answers, Cas thinks, but it’s as vague as the other ones Sam has given him, so he supposes it will have to do for now.

And then it hits him.

“When I become a knight,” he announces, and Sam hesitates.

“Technically, I’m a knight, but Dean still thinks of me as a kid.”

Cas deflates a little, at that, but then he straightens back up, jaw set, because he knows _exactly _how to prove to Dean that he is no longer a child at all.

“When I defeat him in combat,” he says decisively.

“Huh?”

“I will finish my training, and then, when it’s time to fight your brother, I will best him, and then we will _both _know I am old enough.”

Sam blinks, and then glances over at Valencia, who looks strangely delighted.

“Makes sense to me,” she says, very agreeably, and Sam sighs.

“I — guess. Maybe.”

Sam sounds a little doubtful, but in this instance, Cas thinks he knows better.

Over four years ago, on their wedding night, Dean said he would fight him someday, for _real. _Dean threw the match, because Cas was a child and Dean couldn’t take him seriously, but he acknowledged that a day would come when he would.

And the day Cas fights him for real, and then _beats _him for real — that will be the day he proves to them both he is finally grown.

That he will be an asset to Lawrence. That he will no longer be a burden.

That his love will not be a burden, either.

But today is not that day, and for right now, Dean knows Cas is in love with him, and it’s a problem.

Which means that until that day, Cas will have to do everything he can to hide it.

“Don’t worry, Sam,” he says, taking in his friend’s concerned face. He smiles. “I have a plan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * SPOILERS *
> 
> Dean/other: It’s indicated that Carmen had helped Dean out the first few days of his rut; it’s been a strange rut for Dean, and as Carmen is leaving, she offers to see if Tessa or Linus are available, though Dean declines. She’s irritated to hear that Cas is in heat by himself, having assumed Dean asked for help in an effort to be considerate of Cas.


	7. Part VII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: Implied Dean/other (brief scene marked with ** at the beginning and end, just in case. See end notes for details), blink-and-you'll-miss-it Meg/Tracy. Please let me know if I missed something.

If Cas is familiar with the phrase ‘don’t shoot the messenger’ he sure as hell isn’t acting like it.

The worst part is, it’s _nothing _like Cas’s usual sulks. Even when Dean was getting the silent treatment, Cas usually made sure to throw him plenty of glares and emit a shit-ton of exasperated noises. Even last year, before Dean left, Dean could read the sullenness and upset in his body language.

Basically, when Cas is unhappy with Dean, whether he’s pissed or _sad, _it’s at least clear he cares — that he’s probably as bummed out about whatever it is as Dean.

This thing Cas does the next couple of weeks? It feels a lot like _indifference, _and it’s pretty much the worst thing ever.

Because for two weeks, Cas is perfectly polite to him, and Dean _hates _it. There are no sarcastic retorts, no indignant huffs — no matter how hard Dean baits him — and even when Dean tries to bribe him with snacks and honey-flavored dessert, Cas expresses an extremely mild gratitude, so much so it’s like an afterthought.

Worse still, Dean can’t make him _laugh. _ No matter what he does, there is no inelegant snort or surprised giggle or even small chuckle, because Dean can’t even make him _smile. _ Even when he’s not trying to be funny, even when he’s just trying to be _nice, _Cas’s expression barely changes. Long gone is the rare, gummy grin he’s been missing; all he gets now are barely-there twitches of the mouth, and not the I’m-holding-back-my-smile kind of twitches, but the I-pity-you-enough-to-sort-of-try kind.

Of course, Cas hasn’t slept in Dean’s room _once _since that first night back. If Dean had known, he would have stayed in bed that morning and seen the stupid snuggle through to the last damn second.

(Not that cuddles are a relevant factor in his wanting Cas to sleep in the castle, even if Dean accepts that they happen.)

It’s just — it’s not _fair._

Dean went and busted his ass at the border and then marched god-knows-how-many-miles through gross, creepy wilderness and _then _had to stay cooped up in a castle not stabbing Purgaea’s dickbag king in his dumb fucking face, desperately homesick all the while, only to come back, gently tell an obvious truth, and get completely iced out by the per— one of the people he was so homesick for.

He’s being _punished, _for something that’s not even his fault.

But when he asks if Cas is mad at him, Cas just looks surprised.

“No. Why would you think that?” And there’s not a trace of sarcasm in it. Cas looks and sounds sincerely baffled, and Dean feels like a hypersensitive child even bringing it up.

Anyway, it totally ruins Christmas, even though everyone’s doing a fantastic job of pretending it’s not mid-January, and by the time his birthday rolls around, he’s nearly ready to tell Cas he has his blessing to try and secretly date Sam, if only because he knows Sam will never go for it.

At least Cas still gets him a birthday gift.

“It’s not as nice as the feather stone,” he says, hesitantly presenting Dean with the braided leather bracelet, three silver stars tightly woven in. “But I thought it was nice.”

“It is,” Dean says eagerly. Honestly, Cas could have given him a jar of bog juice — or another _watercolor, _even — and Dean would have been thrilled, because it meant Cas at least thought about him enough to get him a gift. “It, uh, it’s really nice. Thank you.”

Dean keeps his arms firmly at his sides and tries not to look too much like he wants a hug.

“You’re welcome.” Cas pauses. “I have another — gift, for you.”

“Yeah?” Dean tries not to sound too eager.

“Well — sort of?” Cas looks uncertain. “It’s — I have something to tell you.”

Dean’s excitement sort of scampers back from the water’s edge at that, suddenly convinced it’s going to be really fucking cold.

“What — what kind of something?”

Cas hesitates.

“Later. I — maybe I could sleep with you tonight?”

Dean blinks.

“Uh. Yeah, okay. Sounds . . . good.”

Cas gives him a small smile, and Dean’s too pathetic not to return it, although he’s suddenly very worried about what Cas wants to tell him.

That worry hovers there, in the back of his mind, until the celebrations end around one AM and Cas follows him up to his room.

“So, uh. What did you wanna tell me?” Dean asks, pretty much as soon as the door shuts. Cas looks startled, hesitating.

“Did you order baths?” he asks instead, and Dean shakes his head.

“Nah. It’s late, we’ll do ‘em in the morning.”

And then he looks at Cas expectantly.

Cas takes a deep breath.

“I — I don’t — that is, I’m not in love anymore.”

Dean blinks, and Cas looks down.

“So you don’t have to be unhappy with me,” he continues, and Dean frowns.

“Hey — I wasn’t unhappy with you.”

Cas lifts his gaze, eyes narrowed.

“You said it was a bad thing.”

“Well, yeah. And if you’re really not in love anymore, then that’s great, but it wasn’t — it wasn’t about _you._”

“I’m not,” Cas says firmly. “You don’t have to worry.”

Dean would love not to worry about Cas pining after Sam, especially if it means things between he and _Cas _can get back to normal, but three weeks hardly seems like enough time to get over a torch that’s been burning for a couple years.

He steps a little closer to Cas, searching his face.

“What, uh, what makes you so sure?”

Cas looks at him for a long moment, expression a little more guarded than Dean would like.

“I’ve thought about it very carefully, for a few weeks. And I’ve come to the conclusion that I, uh. Misunderstood my feelings.”

Well, that — you know, actually, that makes a _lot _ of sense. Sammy’s been Cas’s best friend for like, ever, at this point, and they’re at that crazy age, and Cas is super naive about pretty much _everything. _If Dean stops to think about it, he kind of suspected that at the beginning, didn’t he? That a lot of outside forces were making this thing happen, because at the end of the day, he and Sam just — they don’t work like that.

And Cas was _bound _to see it eventually. Hell, he probably misunderstood something somebody else said and decided that meant he was in love with Sam, and you know, once Cas gets an idea in his head, he doesn’t let it go for anything.

In fact, Dean thinks, brightening further, maybe that homecoming kiss had something to do with it. Maybe Cas thought, being in love with Sam, he wanted to kiss him, and as soon as he did it, he realized it was awful and they had absolutely no spark and he didn’t want Sam after all.

Dean looks at Cas a few seconds longer, just to be sure, but Cas seems pretty calm and resolute. And you know what?

Dean trusts him. If Cas says he’s not in love with Sam, then he’s not in love with Sam.

“Alright. Awesome. Uh. Sorry you had to — I mean. Must’ve been . . . stressful,” he tries, remembering that this is not actually about Dean, and that Cas probably struggled to figure things out.

Although he could have fucking _asked _Dean. Dean’s here for him, and Cas should know that.

Whatever. They’ll work on it.

Cas just sort of looks at him, intent.

“It was fine. But are you — happy?”

“What? Cas, that’s not what’s important here. The point is — are _you _happy? Are you okay with it?”

Why Cas would _want _to be in love with Sam, Dean doesn’t know, but at the very least, falling out of love can be a disillusioning experience.

Cas seems to soften at that.

“I’m very happy, Dean. Don’t worry about me.”

Relief dances through his bones, and Dean smiles.

“Well, then I’m happy, too.”

And then Cas smiles back, a small thing that grows as the seconds pass, and then -

Fuck, yes. There it is. Cas is full on grinning at him, eyes bright, and Dean decides that qualifies as permission to wrap him up in a massive bear hug.

Cas can shove him off, if he doesn’t want to. He’s certainly gotten big enough.

And Cas does stiffen, letting out a surprised grunt, but then he’s squeezing Dean back, hard enough Dean’s ribs almost hurt.

“It’s not a contest, you know,” he snarks, grinning into Cas’s hair, and Cas just sighs.

“Shut up, Dean.”

It’s a pretty good birthday, after all.

Pretending not to be in love with Dean is _horrible._

For three weeks, Cas has had to pretend he _doesn’t _ want to spend all his time with Dean, and since nothing could be further from the truth, it’s left him feeling somehow _more _bored and lonely than before everyone came home, even though now Sam reads with him again.

Although the more he sees of Sam, the less he sees of Valencia and vice versa, and _that _frustration isn’t helping, either.

At least it helps him maintain his conviction; if Sam and Valencia are a couple, and they’re grumpy and avoiding each other, that’s disturbing evidence that Cas being in love with Dean is bound to create distance and conflict.

Still, even if he recognizes it as a necessary evil, it’s _hard. _ And Dean seems to be being _especially _nice, constantly trying to make Cas laugh and offering him snacks and being especially playful during training and inviting Cas to sleep in his room more nights than not.

(Although, apparently he only does that last thing because Cas is his husband, so perhaps it should be discounted.)

In any case, it’s excruciating. It’s a very good thing Cas is not _actually _trying to fall out of love with Dean, because Dean seems hellbent on reminding him of all the reasons Cas _does _love him, be it as friend or family or whatever you call someone you’re in love with. The second Cas can be sure Dean is convinced of the deception, he swears he’s going to make up for lost time.

So Cas pretends not to be in love with Dean, pretends not to enjoy his company, and after the eternity-long three weeks, he decides Dean will probably believe him and then they’ll be able to go back to the way things were without Dean being worried.

And yes, Dean does seem doubtful at first, but when Cas gives his well-practiced explanation, he accepts it.

He even expresses a predominant desire for _Cas _ to be happy, which both warms Cas’s heart and makes him want to throw another book at Dean . If Dean could just be brought around to see that Cas _was _happy being in love with him, then Dean could be happy, too, and Cas wouldn’t have had to suffer for three weeks.

But Sam told him _someday, _so Cas will just have to be patient.

And train very hard, of course. The sooner he can defeat Dean in combat, the sooner he won’t have to worry about Dean figuring out his feelings and being upset with him.

Of course, besting Dean and having Dean _acknowledge _him are certainly perks to look forward to, as well. Cas would be lying if he said he hasn’t indulged in a number of fantasies about the day he manages to gain the upper hand and leave Dean with no choice but to forfeit. Sometimes, Cas is a whirlwind of precise-but-ruthless movement, leaving Dean flat on his back and staring up at Cas with stunned eyes, his breathing heavy, though Cas has barely strained himself at all, coolly basking in Dean’s awe. But mostly, Cas thinks about fighting Dean with everything he has, and Dean doing the same in return. He thinks about a definite but hard-won victory, after which he helps Dean to his feet and Dean embraces him, green eyes warm, and declares his pride in having Cas in his army. This declaration usually involves some very nice words about how glad he is to be married to Cas and how much better his life has been since Cas came to Lawrence.

(Cas is aware he is projecting heavily, but it’s a fantasy, and Meg is always saying you can fantasize about whatever you want.)

In any case, Cas is excited to see the day come when Dean will be forced to recognize him as a man, but until then, he’s determined to train as hard as he can.

Which, of course, means continuing his training sessions with Dean; Dean’s acceptance of his deception means that their evening session is much more entertaining, once again, and Cas is not at all surprised by how much he missed them.

The one thing Cas probably _didn’t _ miss about them, about any of the time he spent with Dean, is the way Dean can occasionally make him — _uncomfortable. _ It’s not a bad feeling, even, but Cas feels self-conscious and strangely aware and generally _flustered, _and he’d just as soon avoid the confusion

Because while he’s mostly used to Dean pinning him during practice (and grudgingly admits that it can be a useful exercise), the longer he does it, the less calm Cas feels. Usually, he’s off fairly quickly, mostly there to test Cas’s reflexes and strategy, but sometimes he likes to make a game of it, pressing Cas down with that smug smirk while Cas struggles beneath him.

At least the bigger (and stronger) Cas gets, the less of a struggle it actually _is. _Still, Dean seems to know just how to distribute his weight to maximize the difficulty.

It’s a week after Dean’s birthday, an extremely pleasant week that’s been a balm on Cas’s soul (if he could get Sam and Valencia to stop fighting, everything would be perfect). Cas spends every other night in the castle, and a part of him thinks he wouldn’t mind if it _was _every night; he’s enjoyed living in the barracks, but he might be willing to move out now if it meant he could share a room with Dean.

Of course, that’s probably because he’s in love, which means he wants to live with Dean, like Anna said.

To be honest, sometimes Cas thinks it’s a little bit of a shame that Dean isn’t in love with him, too. He doesn’t want the unhappiness to get him, but things Sam said have given him hope that they may be some of the people who _weren’t _unhappy.

Though he knows it doesn’t matter, Cas simply likes the idea of Dean being in love with him. It’s a thrilling thought, one that makes him feel a shivering echo of the feeling he got the time Dean told him he loved him in the regular way.

Cas isn’t sure what causes the difference, though, and he certainly wouldn’t want to risk revealing himself _again _by trying to bring it about. As nice as he thinks it might make him feel, it would be purely for the sake of sentiment; it wouldn’t _change _anything.

Still — Bobby and Ellen are in love, and they seem happy. Cas sees them sometimes, discreetly goofing off in the Hall, and it makes him think he and Dean could manage it. Cas caught them having an extremely aggressive snowball fight a few months ago, during which Ellen outright tackled Bobby to the ground, quelling resistance with copious amounts of snow. They both sniffled for a week after, but Cas saw them grinning at each other several of the times it happened.

In light of this — he’s beginning to form a theory about being in love. Specifically, that being _happy _in love involves playing together a lot, which is promising, because Dean plays with him all the time, even when they’re training.

Like now, for instance. Cas can’t help but wonder if this is like Ellen tackling Bobby, at least a little, because it’s one of the times Dean has clearly stopped thinking about training and is enjoying keeping Cas on the ground as long as possible. He hasn’t done it since he returned from Purgaea, and Cas is dismayed to realize you can get _un_used to things, too.

“You got rusty while I was away,” Dean tsks, and Cas glowers back, willing his heart to calm. He should be able to get free, but he’s struggling to focus enough to try. Dean’s face is _so close, _and Cas could easily count his eyelashes. They’re very distracting.

As is the rest of his face.

And Cas has always found it odd, how this game almost feels like — like a _hug, _the warmth and contact so similar, but instead of being comforted, he just feels — a little hot and embarrassed and very, very conscious of all that contact.

Maybe it’s because unlike a hug, he _can_ see Dean’s face. Or because of the courtyard stones at his back, instead of air. Or because Dean is not just a warmth against him, but a weight on top of him, and it makes something not-quite-like the rush of combat tingle through him.

“Nobody else is able to pin me,” Cas retorts — and no doubt that’s because games like _this _have taught him well — and Dean looks pleased, mouth curving.

“Yeah? Even in your new rank?”

Cas experimentally tries to draw a hand up, brace it against Dean’s shoulders, but Dean just grins and catches it, whip-fast, holding it to the side.

“Even in the new rank,” Cas mutters resentfully. Dean’s hold on his wrist is somehow making things _worse. _He feels vaguely like he’s about to combust, sort of like —

Cas freezes, counting back. He can’t be having another heat. It’s too soon, and even though he feels hot all over, he doesn’t feel _fevered._

Dean must be cutting off his air, Cas decides. If he can just get him off, everything will be fine.

Instead of trying to get his other hand up, Cas slides it underneath Dean’s arm, wrapping his own arm around Dean’s waist. He feels Dean’s grip on his wrist slacken, and Cas wrenches that hand free as he hooks his leg around Dean’s, holding onto him as he rolls them.

Dean stares up at him, stunned.

“That’s new,” he remarks.

Cas enjoys a brief surge of pride before he’s flat on his back again, Dean’s eyes twinkling above him.

Cas huffs. Dean has both his wrists in hold now, which means he must be taking this seriously, which _means_ Cas has very little hope of getting free.

At least Dean isn’t pressed up against him anymore. He’s hovering, stretched out over Cas and using his knees to keeps Cas’s apart so Cas can’t use his legs to flip them again, and as obnoxious as that is, it does mean he has plenty of room to breathe.

Somehow, that doesn’t make it easier.

“’S’okay, buddy, we’ll work on it,” Dean promises, and Cas sighs.

“Fine.”

It’s going to be small torture, if Dean actually wants to _focus _on that small, surely inconsequential aspect of training, but Cas _does_ want to be able to best him in a fight, so it’s also necessary.

Dean looks at him for a moment, grin softening to a warm smile.

“I’m glad we’re not fighting anymore,” he says, and Cas’s heart thuds painfully in his chest.

“We weren’t fighting,” he protests. “I was busy thinking.”

He experimentally tugs against Dean’s hold, only to have the grip tighten, Dean leaning in a little closer.

Cas’s stomach flips.

“Hey,” Dean scolds, smirking. “Don’t change the subject.”

Cas resigns himself to being stuck here as long as Dean wills it.

_Someday_, he promises himself.

“Technically, _you _changed the subject.”

Dean just smiles wider.

“Next time, be busy thinkin’ around me, alright?”

Cas still can’t breathe, and he can’t even blame Dean’s weight on top of him anymore.

“Alright,” he agrees.

“I mean it.” Dean leans a little closer still, peering into Cas’s eyes. “Whatever it is — I’m here for you. And I want you to talk to me, okay?”

The only thing worse than what Cas actually had to do would be if he’d had to talk to Dean about his feelings _and _tell convincing lies every day.

But Dean is inches away, and Cas can feel warm, steady breaths against his face, so he just nods.

“Alright,” he says again, but for some reason it comes out a whisper.

The breaths falter. Dean’s brow furrows, eyes scanning Cas’s face, and Cas is painfully aware that he has no idea what it’s doing right now.

A sharp whistle has them both turning toward the sound, and there’s Meg, brows raised.

“Really? In the _courtyard_?”

Dean abruptly releases Cas, lurching upright between his knees.

“Jesus, _no — _that’s — we’re _training._”

“That is some kinky shit, Deano.”

“That is _not _what I meant,” Dean sputters hotly, and Cas abruptly realizes he’s still flat on his back, staring at where Dean kneels before him.

He takes a deep breath and scoots himself back a little, freeing his legs so he can haul himself to a sitting position.

He doesn’t say anything. His heart is still pounding and he can’t quite make himself look away from Dean’s face.

Meg snorts.

“Sure it’s not. Anyway, everyone’s on their way for dinner. At least _finish up _somewhere more private.” She pauses. “There’s that nice, big ol’ tree outside the kitch—”

“_Meg,” _Dean snaps, and finally, Cas glances over at her.

She winks and skips into the hall without another word.

“Sorry,” Cas says, uncertain, because Dean looks extremely irritated, and his face is very red.

But Dean just shakes his head and stands, extending a hand. Cas takes it, letting Dean pull him to his feet —

Only to end up back on the ground less than a second later.

Fortunately, Dean does not crawl on top of him this time, choosing to remain standing with that annoying smirk on his face.

“You can’t let yourself get distracted,” he chides, not seeming to understand that he _is _a distraction, all on his own. Cas just huffs, jumping up and glaring at him.

“I thought we were done.”

Dean shakes his head.

“When you’re a knight, you’re never done. C’mon, let’s get some dinner.”

Cas follows him into the hall, still bizarrely flustered over today’s session, and for some reason, he catches himself thinking about the time he’d kissed Dean, back in January.

Cas could have kissed him today, he thinks. Anytime Dean had him on the ground, Cas could have kissed him. Dean was so preoccupied with keeping the rest of him immobile, Cas could have just — tilted his head up a few scant inches and found that odd, dry contact once again, Dean’s mouth soft and unguarded where the rest of him wasn’t.

And then used the distraction to wrestle free, of course.

“Cas?”

Cas blinks, realizing he’s lagged behind, fingers sub-consciously pressed to his mouth.

“Uh. You sick? You’re not gonna puke, are you?” Dean asks, concerned.

Cas swallows.

“No. Sorry. Let’s go.”

By the end of dinner, he’s forgotten all about it.

Dean’s rut hits the first week of February, and it’s like he’s paying for the conveniently mild two-day spell he’d experienced last summer while they were fighting Purgaea; he doesn’t think he’s had a rut that weak since his mid-teens, and even if he didn’t have a policy against recreational fun with his soldiers while they were actively serving, he doubts he would have bothered getting help.

This one, though — this one is _nothing _like that one. For the most part, it’s not as bad as the six day hell-rut that happened when he synced with Cas, but in some ways, it’s worse. Because if he thought he’d had trouble keeping it up and, uh, getting anywhere with it _then, _it’s laughable compared to now.

**

Linus is thrilled to take a cycle leave from gate-duty, given the frigid outdoor weather (and the pleasure of Dean’s company, Dean hopes), but he ultimately leaves within two hours of arriving, both of them disappointed.

Dean thanks him profusely for his efforts, eager for him to depart so he can crawl into his bed and die of embarrassment.

Linus, to his credit, is mostly just concerned.

“Maybe you should talk to Ellen? I’m a little worried about you.”

“No, no,” Dean protests. “It’s fine. I’m fine. I, uh — my cycle’s been weird, but it — it’s fine.”

**

Although privately, Dean wonders if he picked something up while he was trekking through Purgaea’s creepy woods.

Though he definitely didn’t catch anything like _that, _so to speak. Dean was either too tired or too busy to go looking for fun in the towns, and given the no-fucking-around-with-soldiers-on-duty policy, he can confidently say he didn’t catch anything while at war.

Still — jerking off works, a lot better than company did, and during the reprieves, Dean gets to thinking about just how long his dry spell was, and he’s honestly horrified by his conclusion.

If he didn’t get laid during the war, and he was too stressed out over this Cas and Sam drama when he came back, then — then that means —

It’s been over a _year._

Dean knows a moment of panic, at that. How did he not notice? Is there something wrong with his sex drive? Is it because there _is _something wrong with him? Or is it coincidence, but still causing his problems now? Did going that long without cause things to _break_? Does he have to retrain them to respond to other humans again? Is that a real medical thing?

Plagued by these worries, Dean masturbates despondently for two days, and when his rut dissipates rather cleanly and quickly after that time, he decides not to ask Ellen.

It was probably a cycle thing. Probably just a fluke.

Anyway, he’s not looking forward to syncing up with Cas again, since it looks like his schedule reverted during his time away and there’s no question of them spending less time together. Hell, they’re probably spending _more _time together. Dean just hopes he won’t full on skip a rut this time. The catch-up is a bitch.

And it’s possible Cas will end up matching his, instead. Dean doesn’t know if he’s on a regular cycle yet, but if he’s not, it makes more sense for him to match to Dean’s than the reverse.

But on the other hand, Dean doesn’t want the kid dealing with anything _like _the hell rut, so maybe that would be a bad thing.

In any case, Dean’s been back to normal for just a few days when his Dad calls him to the council room.

“Spring’s around the corner,” John remarks. “When the weather’s good, I want you and your squad to head out to the outposts and conduct some training sessions.”

“Uh. Doesn’t Bobby usually do that?”

“Bobby says you’re pretty good with the Edenish kid, and this way he can stay here. It’ll be good for you, I think.”

Dean’s not happy about going off again when he feels like he barely just got home, but it’s only four months, and even if it gets tedious, at least there’s no war going on.

Of course, he can see Cas’s objections forming the minute Dean lets the table know.

“Nope,” he says, before Cas has even opened his mouth.

Cas narrows his eyes.

“I told you, before you left last time—”

“Yeah, I remember, but this and that are different. I’m not headed off to battle, I’m headed off on a boring-ass work trip.”

“You’re training people. I want to benefit as well.”

“I won’t have time to do one-on-one with you, man. These things are intense.”

Cas scowls.

“I can handle it.”

“I’m not saying you can’t, I’m saying you won’t _like _it. It’ll be a bunch of strangers in a strange place and no time to read and play around. And no honeycakes. You’ll be miserable, and you’ll get way more benefit if you just wait for me to get back so I can give you my full attention.”

“If it helps,” Benny interjects, glancing uneasily between them. “It’s boring as hell, and I wouldn’t go, either, if I thought I could get out of it.”

“Same,” Charlie chirps.

Dean sighs.

“I’d be offended, but I don’t wanna, either.”

“All the more reason for me to come with you,” Cas says hurriedly. “I can — make it better for you. I’ll, uh. Keep you company, and — entertain you.”

Everyone suddenly takes a great deal of interest in their plates, awkwardly scratching necks and fiddling with forks, and Dean thinks, not for the first time, that his friends are dicks.

It would help if Cas were just a _little _bit more aware of how some things might sound.

“As nice as it would be to have you there to _talk _to and, uh, _read books _with,” he starts, glaring down the table. “I think you’ll be happier here. It’s gonna be a whole season, buddy. Do you really wanna be away for that long? Take it from me, it sucks.”

There’s several noises of assent from further down the table, and Cas gives Dean a frustrated look.

“No, but I don’t want to be away from _you, _either,” he insists, unabashedly honest.

Dean blinks.

Oh. That — but —

“Sam’ll be here,” he says, calculating and somehow hopeful.

Cas hesitates.

“That’s true,” he hedges. “But I — uh.”

Sam jumps in.

“I, um, I think Cas doesn’t have to worry about me, since I’ll be at the castle. Whereas if he stays, he’ll be worried about you.”

“Yes,” Cas interrupts, nodding. “So I would rather be with you, Dean.”

Dean keeps his expression carefully neutral, taking a slow sip of water while pretending to consider this and doing a smug internal jig.

Cas would rather be with _Dean _than with _Sam._

This is the best thing Dean’s heard in ages — because it means Cas is over Sam and no one’s gonna break the poor kid’s heart, of course.

Nonetheless, Cas can’t come. Dean’s not really going to feel like working if Cas is around, obviously bored. Or if Cas joins the drills, Dean might pay too much attention to him, out of habit, and he might not do as good a job as he ought.

Kid’s surprisingly distracting, is all.

“Well, uh, thanks. But you still can’t. You’re gonna have to wait.”

Cas presses his lips together.

“I waited for a _year. _Forgive me if I’m done waiting.”

Dean softens, although there’s a considerable amount of squirming and strange eye contact happening on Cas’s other side.

“I’ll be back before you know it.”

“The time will pass more quickly if I go with you.”

Dean frowns. Jeez, Cas is really pushing this, isn’t he?”

“Alright.” He’s going to have to fight dirty here. “When was your last heat?

Cas looks startled.

“I — shortly before you came home.”

“Okay. So it could happen while we’re away, and you wouldn’t have Ellen or the infirmary. Are you ready to do that if you don’t absolutely have to?”

Cas looks torn.

“I— but — well, what about _you,_ Dean? If you’re prepared to do that, then I can also—”

“Hey, hey. I just had my rut, first of all, and even if I hadn’t, I’m used to it. Last summer I suffered alone in a damn tent in the _woods_.”

Maybe he’s exaggerating the suffering part, but Cas doesn’t need to know that.

Cas blinks.

“Alone? But — I thought you had someone help you.”

Dean suddenly feels both super awkward and super aware of all his closest friends and squad members uncomfortably eavesdropping a few feet away.

“Uh. No. Not — not when I’m away from home. I always, uh, do it alone.”

Cas’s expression undergoes a series of changes Dean can’t even begin to keep track of.

“Oh.” He clears his throat, looking down. “Alright. I suppose I can — stay here.”

Dean exhales, relieved.

“Thank you.”

“But if you take longer than four months,” Cas says suddenly, catching his eye. “I’m coming to join you, anyway.”

Dean snorts. Fucking typical.

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever.” He flicks the back of Cas’s neck, turning back to his plate. “I’ll keep it to four months.”

Dean and his squad leave for the first outpost at the beginning of April, but as soon as they get word of a definite date, Cas is smart enough to make the most of his remaining time.

“I apologize,” he tells Sam and Valencia, who are _still _extremely cross with one another, and although they’re willing to sit with Cas at the same time, they hardly exchange a word. “I hope you won’t feel neglected if I spend more time with Dean this week.”

Sam smiles.

“It’s okay, we’ll still be here when he’s gone. Is it — you won’t mind mind if we still tag along for sleepovers sometimes, right?”

“Of course not.”

“Okay. I’d like to spend some extra time with him, too, before he goes.”

Cas can easily understand that. So long as Sam doesn’t try and _limit_ him, he is perfectly willing to share.

Valencia nods.

“Me, too,” she agrees. “He might not bother to write while he’s gone, after all.”

Sam stiffens.

“Well, as long as you write him, I’m sure you’ll get as many letters as you want,” he assures her, terse. Cas supposes that’s fair; he, too, is alarmed by the idea that Dean won’t send letters this time.

Dean _always _answers letters, though. Sam is right; as long as Cas sends them, he will receive a reply.

“You think?” she says mildly, absentmindedly sorting her roasted vegetables by kind. “Okay. I think I can do that. I mean, as long as he’s not a complete dick before he leaves.”

Sam inhales sharply, and then doesn’t say another word for the rest of dinner.

Cas is becoming accustomed to short, tense exchanges like these, and as worrisome as they are, he’s more preoccupied with Dean leaving.

In fact, once Dean is gone, he might even help Sam and Valencia repair their relationship, if such a thing is even possible — they seem to be one of the _un_happy couples, and Cas dreads a day where he and Dean interact like they do — because Dean is, as always, deeply distracting.

Cas would take all the discomforts in the world to have Dean by his side, but since Dean has no choice but to leave, Cas is a little hopeful on his own behalf, as well. Cas dreams of Dean more and more often, it feels like, waking with fragments of Dean’s embraces or Dean’s proximity in training or that small kiss from January floating in his brain.

And a morning situation to not deal with.

Still more disturbing, Cas is — sometimes he lies in bed and he focuses on the fragments, warm and too sleepy to be concerned, and he thinks about dealing with it, after all.

That’s usually about the time he wakes up enough to be concerned.

He just considers himself fortunate that Dean sleeps later than him; he’s not sure he could face him with the dream still fresh in his mind _and _the morning situation he’s shamefully tempted to handle.

And if the dreams weren’t bad enough on their own, Cas has started thinking about them while he’s _awake. _Dean will sometimes come collect him from training himself, slinging an arm around him as they walk back to the courtyard, and Cas will zone out, thinking about a dream where Dean had been doing that, except then he’d suddenly pulled Cas into a hug, fingers carding through his hair and face close — and — and -

And then Cas, awake and without excuses, will actually sometimes — _embellish — _upon these images, stitching bits and pieces of memories together, so that sometimes Cas will remember a hug and the kiss and the two will converge into one and he will feel generally overheated and scatterbrained and mildly ashamed.

He’s worried about what it all means.

And a part of him is hoping that perhaps, when Dean leaves, his brain will finally resolve whatever confusing puzzle it’s currently working through.

Still, Cas _has _learned his lesson about letting his own feelings get in the way of spending time with Dean, and for the two weeks before Dean leaves, Cas is pleased to say they’re nigh inseparable. Dean walks him to breakfast every morning, of course, and trains with him after practice is done for the day, as always, and Cas sleeps in Dean’s room every night, though Sam and/or Valencia are often there. Though Cas broke his habit of sneaking away from training to watch Dean long ago, he allows himself to fall back into it again, perching on the sidelines to admire Dean as he does drills and spars with his squad.

Cas has the guilty thought that watching Dean is, in some ways, a little more fun than practice, though it makes him long for the day Dean will face him in combat without holding back.

Dean’s current opponents clearly don’t appreciate the privilege, but Cas supposes he’d be unhappy, too, were his match with Dean to end in defeat.

Dean catches his eye often enough, clearly well-aware Cas is there, but he just smiles and shakes his head and doesn’t scold him.

Cas wonders if that has anything to do with the fact that Bobby doesn’t say anything to him about it, either.

This time around, Cas walks with Dean down to the courtyard, hovering while he finishes preparing his horse and overseeing the chaos until it’s turned to order. When it’s time to go, Dean collects his hugs from Sam and Valencia, and then folds Cas in his arms, neck warm where it presses against Cas’s cheek.

“Try and do something about them while I’m gone,” Dean mumbles, and Cas sighs.

“I intend to. It’s very confusing.” He hesitates. “Don’t be disappointed if it’s beyond hope. Anna told me that being in love makes most people unhappy.”

Dean is quiet for a moment.

“I wanna argue,” he says eventually. “But I don’t know if I can.”

Cas just closes his eyes, trying to memorize the feel of Dean’s skin, warm against his own, and the bright, woodsy notes of his scent, potent and nearly sweet this close. It will be a long four months.

“Not always,” Cas says before he can stop himself. “Sometimes — sometimes it’s okay.”

Dean tilts his head, breaking contact, and Cas suppresses a sigh.

He supposes the hug is over, then.

“Well,” Dean finally says, leaning back to look at Cas and bringing his hand to gently push the hair back from Cas’s forehead. “Hopefully this is one of those times.”

Cas nods, leaning into the gentle fingers.

“Hopefully.”

“I’ll see you in four months, Cas.”

“I’ll miss you.”

Dean smiles, and then he leans forward, so close their foreheads touch and Cas goes cross-eyed trying to keep his gaze.

He pinches Cas’s cheek.

“You better.”

And then he’s gone, the pleasant April day feeling suddenly chilly as Cas watches him mount his horse and begin leading the others out.

Cas misses him already — and a part of him wishes he’d thought to convince Dean that _goodbye_ kisses are an Edenish custom, too.

“Sam,” Cas begins, while they’re sitting in the library that evening. “I don’t, uh. I don’t mean to pry — but you and Valencia seem to have been fighting for a while.”

Sam’s mouth twists, wry.

“You noticed?”

Cas hesitates. He doesn’t want to make Sam feel bad, but —

“It was difficult not to.”

Sam snorts.

“Yeah, I know, I was being sarcastic.” He sighs, running a hand through his hair, which promptly falls right back in his face. “Sorry. I know it’s not fun for anyone.”

Cas nods.

“You could always — make up?”

“I don’t know, man. It’s, um. It’s the kind of fight where both people are angry in opposite directions. So resolving it means someone has to change their perspective, and — well. I guess neither of us feels like we should have to.”

“But can’t you — agree to disagree?”

Sam blows out a breath.

“It’s — God, I don’t know. It’s kind of late for that.”

“What do you mean?”

Sam purses his lips.

“If she had just written me—”

“But she says you didn’t write her, either.”

“Last time I saw her she shoved me out of her room and told me she hoped I didn’t get a tree disease from the Purgaean woods, except _oh wait, _it looked like I already had!”

“You are very tall,” Cas points out, and Sam gives him a dour look.

“Thanks, Cas. Anyway — if she hadn’t tried to tell me what to do, we wouldn’t have fought in the first place, so . . . if someone was going to write, it should have been her, saying she was _sorry._”

Cas hesitates, and then scoots a little closer to Sam, putting a hand on his shoulder.

“I understand _exactly _how you feel. Dean is — well, the most frustrating person I have ever met, and he seems to take great delight in telling me what to do. In fact, I still believe I should be riding out with him this time.”

Sam opens his mouth, but Cas hurries on.

“However — the reason I wanted to go was because I wanted to be with him. The reason I forgive him, even when he’s being obnoxious, is because I want to be with him.’ Cas lowers his gaze. “Last time — before you both went to war, I was angry. And I did what you and Valencia are doing now. And I regretted it, because our disagreement didn’t matter. What matters is that I love Dean, and I don’t want to spend my time with him fighting, or worse, not spend time with him at all.”

Sam slumps, sighing.

“I know. You’re right, and I _know, _but — but sometimes the disagreement _does _matter. I can know that, and you can tell me I should just — I don’t know, let it go, but — well, she isn’t, either. And doesn’t that mean something? That it’s not worth it to her?”

Cas is at a loss.

“Maybe she hasn’t realized?”

Sam rolls his eyes.

“She’s one of the smartest people I’ve ever met. She knows. But her — I don’t know, her _pride _is more important.”

“You’re doing the same thing,” Cas points out, and Sam gives him a helpless shrug.

“Yeah, I am. And I want to say she started it, but maybe my pride is more important, too. Maybe we’re just not . . .” Sam swallows. “Maybe the argument’s not what I should be letting go here.”

“What do you mean?”

Sam sighs.

“You know I — I like her. Like you like Dean.”

Cas frowns.

“I _love _Dean,” he corrects, and Sam lets out a startled laugh, burying his face in his hands.

“Right. Well, I think my feelings are — something like that. And I thought we were on the same page? Or — or getting there. But we never did, not really, and then we had this fight, and — I don’t know. Maybe we’re just not meant to be.”

That’s — disappointing. Cas isn’t stupid enough to think that if Sam decides he doesn’t love Valencia, after all, that will somehow magically resolve the fight. If Sam’s current mood is any indication, he’ll be upset, Valencia might be as well, and in addition to not being able to help his friends, things will probably never go back to the way they were before the war with Purgaea.

Cas likes spending time with Sam and Valencia much, much more when they’re at least friends.

“Even if that’s — true,” Cas says, very reluctantly, “You should — I think you should make peace with one another.”

Sam nods.

“Probably. I don’t know how, though.”

“Well, the fight is about — not writing each other letters?”

Sam makes a face.

“Um. _This_ part of it is.”

“There are _two _parts to it?” Cas clarifies, incredulous. He and Dean only ever fight about _one _thing.

Valencia and Sam must be very complicated people, he thinks gravely. He will have to think his advice over carefully.

“Yeah,” Sam huffs. “She didn’t think I should go with the army, that I should have stayed with the rest of my rank.”

“Oh.” Cas ponders this. “It sounds like you did very well.”

Sam nods, straightening up.

“Right? I _was _ready. Even Dean admitted it. And as much as it sucked — I wouldn’t take it back. And I would go again, with everyone else. And — and she should understand that.”

Cas sighs. He can absolutely relate, except in Cas’s case, he was _not _permitted to prove Dean wrong.

“Perhaps. But sometimes people don’t. Dean didn’t think I should go.”

Sam pauses, and gets a very awkward expression.

“Um. Well, to be fair—”

Cas narrows his eyes.

“Right. Sorry, you were saying?”

“Dean didn’t think I should go, and I disagreed. And I _still _disagree. But I forgave him. So perhaps you don’t need to change your perspective, Sam. Perhaps you just need to accept that she was wrong, and forgive her.”

“Sure. But that doesn’t really change how she feels about it, does it?” He shakes his head. “I just — I don’t know, man.”

They fall silent, quietly perched in front of a sofa in the library’s sitting area. Cas continues thinking about it, though, ignoring his book in favor of staring into the fireplace while he leans against Sam.

“There’s still the second part of the argument,” he says eventually, and Sam puts his book aside, looking down at him with his brows raised.

“Yeah?”

Cas sits up, giving him a serious look.

“It’s not too late, Sam,” he says, deciding this is _probably _good advice. “You can still write her a letter.”

Sam looks surprised, and then he sort of smiles, and then he laughs.

“Yeah. Yeah, I guess I could.”

Cas beams, and goes to ask Donna for pen and paper himself.

“What the _hell _is this?”

Sam stares at the letter Valencia just threw on his empty plate, clearly dismayed.

“Um. It’s — a letter?”

“Okay. And why was it outside my chamber door?”

“Because I wrote it to you?”

Valencia stares at him, jaw tense and eyes furious.

“You—” She takes a breath. “This isn’t fair. You can’t just do this.”

“You don’t have to read it,” Sam offers, rubbing the back of his neck, and her shoulders slump.

After a moment, she snatches it back off his plate.

“I’ll think about it,” she mutters. “I’m eating dinner upstairs.”

Without another word, she leaves.

“Was that — good or bad?” Cas asks after a moment, because after watching them the last few months, he honestly isn’t sure.

Sam shrugs, looking as tired as Cas has ever seen him.

“I have no idea,” he says. “I guess we’ll see.”

Curiously, Sam and Valencia don’t start talking — in fact, aside from dinner, they stop being in the same room together at all — but they _do _start writing each other letters. Oftentimes, they’ll even ask Cas to deliver them when he goes to meet the other.

Cas doesn’t mind. They both look quietly pleased when Cas brings them a new letter, and Cas is sure that’s a good sign.

What is _not _ a good sign is that now that Dean is away, Cas dreams of him _even more. _In his dreams, Dean touching their foreheads together turns into a kiss like the ones he sees when the whole castle is in the hall celebrating and mead and affection flow freely, a kiss decidedly unlike the one he actually experienced.

Despite the uncertainty of this imagining, it’s very — _affecting._

Cas is not sure what to do about it.

The more years that pass between his conversation with Anna, the less clearly he’s able to remember it, but he does think they talked about something like this. About how Bobby and Ellen were, about how other people in love are.

What it sometimes makes them want.

Every time he thinks about it, though, he shies away from the thought. Besides — shouldn’t that only happen if _both _people are in love? Why would Cas want such things when his feelings are secret and one-sided?

It makes no sense, and while Cas has become fairly comfortable handling the obnoxious cycle erections, doing so seems a lot different than the _other _things. It seems more like personal maintenance, like bathing. An individual task.

Of course, then Cas thinks about all the times he’s fallen into wishing Dean were there to help him — about the fact that Jo once seemed to think he should — and then he thinks that maybe it’s not _entirely _an individual task.

And then he thinks about Dean helping him bathe, for comparison’s sake, at which point he’s mortified to realize he has an erection in the library, and then he thinks that perhaps he should _not think about it._

Sam gives him a weird look when Cas says he’ll be down to dinner in a few minutes, but Cas decides that’s probably better than the look he’d give him if he knew _why._

_Curse_ his feckless body.

The post arrives halfway through dinner, bringing letters from Dean, to Cas’s great delight.

_Dear Cas,_

_ We’ve arrived at the first outpost; it’s no more than _ _thirty miles away, so letters should move a little faster._

_ It’s also _ _ boring as hell _ _ . I told you so. To start with, there’s a lot of overseeing and shit. I spent _ _ eight hours _ _ today watching these guys spar with each other. And they’re great, sure, and I know some of them, but _ _ still. _ _ It’s important, so we know what to work on, but dear God is it dull work. _

_ It’s only the second day, but training you is way more fun. And actually, I think you’re better than most of these guys._

_ Also — there’s no __pie_. _Seriously, they turn all their fruit into preserves for the winter and they put it on bread. I mean, I knew what we had to __not__ look forward to, but they don’t even make muffins. If I weren’t supposed to set a good example or some stupid shit like that, I would mutiny._

_ Anyway. Th__ey’re good people, here, but — I’m definitely missing the castle. _ _ And I’m not just saying that so you won’t be pissed about staying home. _

_ Tell me what you ate for dinner when you write, okay? (Christ, I can _ _ practically _ _ see you _ _ tilting your head and _ _ making that _ _ dumb__, squinty face _ _ from here__. _ _ Just do it, okay? _ _ You’d understand if you were eating what I was.) _

_ And let me know if Sam and Val have made up yet. Hopefully now that my distractingly handsome self isn’t there to cause a rift, it’ll be smooth sailing._

_ (Kidding, Cas. It’s a joke.)_

_ Wish us luck out here._

_ Dean_

When Cas looks up, Sam is looking at him, grinning.

“What?”

Sam just shakes his head and hands his letter over. The contents are fairly similar, though Dean shares several jokes Cas understands well enough to identify as _ inappropriate _ (except for one; how is ‘Pull out’ a punchline? Pull out _ what_?), but at the end, Dean instructs Sam to write him and tell him if Cas cocked his head and squinted at the letter when he received it.

Cas flushes.

“My face isn’t dumb,” he mutters, and when it becomes clear Sam is trying not to laugh, he adds. “Also, what does ‘pull out’ mean?”

Sam is _ generally _happy to answer Cas’s questions, but there are certain categories that always make him uncomfortable, and on the very rare occasion Sam is being annoying, Cas doesn’t hesitate to take advantage of this.

Sam’s twitching lips go flat, then turn into a funny grimace.

“Um.”

Valencia laces her fingers together, propping her chin on them as she looks at Sam, blinking curiously.

“Yeah, Sam. What _ does _‘pull out’ mean?”

Sam gives her a sharp look.

“It’s — it’s, um, it’s not really — good dinner conversation.”

“After dinner, then,” Cas agrees, and Sam gets a pained look.

It serves him right, Cas thinks smugly.

Sam tries to get up before Cas is done eating, ostensibly to go talk to Garth, but Cas makes quick work of the rest of his meal and says a hasty good night to Valencia before falling into step beside Sam as he leaves the Hall.

“Sam, what does ‘pull out’ mean?”

Sam winces.

“Um. Um. Well. You — you know how, um, uh, sex?”

Cas arches a brow.

“What about it?”

“Well, um, the part — where — the — someone puts their — the thing — in the -”

Valencia lets out a wheeze, and Cas stops, turning back with a startled glance.

“Oh. Are you — are you staying with Sam in the barracks?”

The small smirk she’s wearing drops right off her face.

“No?” She hesitates. “I wanted to know what that meant, too, remember?”

Well, Cas only sleeps in Dean’s room because they’re married, and Sam and Valencia hardly even speak, letters notwithstanding. He supposes that makes sense.

“Alright. Sam?”

It’s dark, but Cas thinks Sam looks quite red.

“Oh, God,” he mumbles. “Alright, so you know how you can take medication to avoid, um, pregnancy?”

“Yes?”

“Well, um, pulling out is — _really_ not as effective — but people try to use it to, um, to avoid that, too.”

Cas considers this, in all its vagueness, and then it dawns on him.

“Ah,” he says, nodding, and honestly feeling somewhat clever for figuring it out when Sam’s given him so little to work with. “You’re referring to penetration and the release of semen.”

Sam trips.

Behind him, Valencia emits an odd, high pitched sound.

“Y-yeah. I — that — that’s one way to put it.”

“But why isn’t it as effective?”

Sam rubs the back of his neck.

“Um. You can’t really, you know. Be sure. That things didn’t — make contact.”

“I see,” Cas muses. “Handling erections _can_ be very untidy.”

Sam looks a little like he might cry.

“Right.”

Cas sighs.

“You don’t need to be embarrassed, Sam. These are just things bodies do.”

Cas is, at this point, being a trifle _ too _smug, and Sam stops walking.

“Yeah? So you’re not embarrassed about your heats anymore?” He prompts, arch, and Cas reddens against his will. Hopefully it’s dark enough no one can tell.

“That’s different.”

“It’s okay, Cas. That’s just a thing bodies _ do. _”

Sometimes, being friends with Sam is deeply trying. _ Rarely, _but sometimes.

“I think I know what I’m going to write Dean about,” Valencia murmurs behind them, and Sam purses his lips.

“Are you going to walk _ all the way _to the barracks just so you can laugh at us?”

She blinks.

“Is that unreasonable?”

Cas thinks he sees Sam’s mouth twitch.

“Well, the show’s over.”

“I’m not sure it is.”

Sam shakes his head, and then hesitates.

“I can walk you back, if you want.”

She raises her brows.

“Do you think I _ need _you to walk me back?”

“No, that’s why I said ‘if you want,’” Sam retorts, and there’s a long silence.

Cas doesn’t dare interrupt, because he’s pretty sure he knows what he’ll be writing to Dean about, too.

“If _you_ want,” she says eventually. “You good, Cas?”

Cas nods.

“I’ll see you both in the morning,” he tells them, and makes his way to the barracks, where he tucks himself into bed and pulls out his letter from Dean.

Only to have it rudely snatched away.

“Well, well, well,” Meg drawls. “What do we have here?”

“Meg,” he warns, reaching for it, but she skitters back, gleefully scanning the contents.

It’s incredibly _ rude; _ Cas doesn’t even share his letters with _ Sam. _

Meg suddenly lets her hand fall, looking disappointed, and Cas snatches it back.

“Really? _ That’s _ what he writes you about?”

Something about the way she says it, incredulous and a little scornful, raises his hackles.

“Yes. What else would he write me about?”

“Oh, I don’t know, Clarence. Sonnets about your eyes? Or, well, _ other _ parts. Honestly, I was kind of hoping for something dirty.” She leers a little. “He must be missing you _ bunches _, angel.”

Cas hesitates.

“He sent Sam dirty jokes to pass on to me,” he lies. After all, he _ did _end up seeing them. “And why would he write sonnets about me?”

Meg squints.

“Are you _ kidding _ me? You don’t — oh, boy. You have the worst husband _ ever. _”

“Dean is the _ best _ husband _ anyone _could ask for,” Cas snaps, drawing himself up as he steps into her space.

Unfortunately, Meg, despite being considerably more slight than he, is not intimidated by this. She’s going to make a very good soldier someday, he supposes, although she ditches practice too often to be the best.

She considers him, a small smirk playing at her lips.

“Maybe he’s not missing you as much as I think,” she murmurs. “Tell me, Clarence, what do _ you _write him about?”

“It’s nothing to you,” Cas growls, and Meg snorts.

“Ooh, scary. I bet you tell him about your training and your little books, don’t you?”

Cas flushes.

“I tell him what’s happening while he’s away.”

Meg’s grin just gets wider.

“Sure,” she says slowly. “But does he tell _ you _ everything that happens while _ he’s _ away?”

“Yes.” Cas holds up the letter. “As you can see, he even tells me about what he _ eats _.”

Meg finds this hilarious for some reason.

“It’s okay, angel,” she says, patting him on the shoulder and strolling to her own bunk. “I won’t tell anyone.”

Cas glares after her for a moment, then crawls into bed and rereads his letter.

His good mood is considerably dampened, and he doesn’t even know what she means.

“Meg was mocking me last night,” Cas tells Sam the next day, before Sam has a chance to open his book. “She seems to think there’s something wrong with what Dean writes me about. And that there are things he’s not telling me.”

Sam blinks.

“Wait — you show her your letters?”

He sounds a little hurt, and Cas quickly shakes his head.

“No, she stole this one. It was extremely rude.”

“Well, yeah. Even for a joke, that’s going way too far.”

“Right? Thank you, Sam.” Cas sighs. “And then she had to nerve to be critical, although I’m inclined to think she was just being _ ridiculous. _ She said she was expecting ‘sonnets’ or ‘something dirty.’”

Sam freezes.

“Um.”

“Which is _ another _ thing. Why doesn’t Dean send _ me _dirty jokes? I’m certainly old enough, and I understand most of them.”

Sam fidgets with the hem of his shirt.

“Oh, well, he, um, he probably thinks you wouldn’t _ enjoy _them. He doesn’t want to, um, bore you.”

“The only thing that bores me is when he references various minstrels and bards he’s heard in his travels, because I have no way of knowing what he’s talking about. Otherwise, I — I’m more than happy to hear anything Dean has to say.”

Perhaps Cas is sulking; but even if Meg just enjoys causing trouble and is probably lying, Cas hates that feeling of someone else knowing something he doesn’t.

And he definitely hates the feeling that something may be wrong in his relationship with Dean. He’s gone to great lengths to make sure there _ isn’t, _and if there remain some threats he isn’t even aware of, then everything could still be in jeopardy.

Sam is giving him a soft-eyed, sympathetic look.

“Hey, if you want, I can write him and tell him he shouldn’t worry about it, since you’ve been in Lawrence — well, and around him — long enough you can probably appreciate the humor.” Sam pauses. “And then if you don’t understand one of the jokes, you can ask _ him _about it.”

Cas considers this.

“Would you? I’ll tell him, as well, but he doesn’t always listen to me the way he should.”

“Sure thing, Cas. And — don’t worry about things Meg says, okay? She just likes teasing you.”

“I know,” he mumbles. “Still — as you said, I think some things are going too far.”

Sam nods.

“Yeah. But you know, if you let her know she crossed a line, she’ll probably try not to do it again. She _ is _ your friend.”

“Oh. Do you think?”

“I mean, she’ll never stop _ teasing _you, but if she knows she really upset you this time, I don’t think it’ll be as funny to her.”

Perhaps. Meg is full of mischief, but she’s not _ bad. _

“I’ll speak to her. Thank you for the advice,” he adds, and Sam smiles.

“Hey, you give me good advice, too.”

Cas smiles back, pleased that he can be useful.

Still — even once he’s started reading his book, he can’t stop wondering what things Dean wouldn’t tell him.

Cas means to just tell Meg she was being — well, an _ ass — _and leave it at that, but he can’t help himself.

“What do you think Dean doesn’t write me about?” he asks, quietly dropping to the ground behind her at lunch.

Meg makes a startled sound, dropping her sandwich croissant.

“What the _ hell, _Clarence?” she barks. “Where did you even come from?”

Cas tilts his head.

“The other side of the training field?”

She rolls her eyes, shifting so she’s facing him.

“Fine. Maybe if you’re here to chaperone, Tracy will agree to eat with me.”

Meg glances off to the side, flashing a sharp smile as she leers, and Cas watches Tracy flip her off without breaking stride. Meg just grins wider, even though Cas is positive that gesture is _ always _negative.

“I don’t think she wants to eat with you,” he says helpfully, and Meg pinches his thigh.

“Give it time, Clarence.” She picks her croissant back up, tucking the cold cuts and cheese back in. “Alright, what’s this about His Royal Fine-Ass?”

“You indicated that he doesn’t tell me everything.” Cas hesitates. “If you’d seen his other letters though, you’d know he was very thorough.”

Meg gives him an interested look.

“Thorough? Or _ thorough_?”

“I don’t understand,” Cas says, frustrated.

“Look, angel. All I’m saying is, if Deano doesn’t write about all the naughty little things he misses doing to you? He’s probably doing them to someone else.” She softens. “But y’know, that’s how princes are. I wouldn’t let it bother you.”

Cas just stares.

“What . . . naughty things? Dean never does anything bad to me.”

Unless keeping Cas on the ground during training counts, but Dean is clearly playing. Cas has accepted the bathing rules of sleeping in Dean’s room, so they rarely fight about that anymore, and he’s also beginning to suspect Dean _ knows _Layla gives him more honeycakes than she’s supposed to and simply doesn’t bother trying to enforce it, so that rule hardly counts either.

Meg bites her lip.

“You are too precious.” She nudges him, lifting her brows. “Naughty things, like the stuff you do in the bedroom. Or other places, if what I saw in the courtyard is anything to go by.”

Cas thinks about this for a long moment.

“Oh. Are you — Meg, are you referring to sex?”

Meg chokes on her croissant a little.

“Uh. Yef?” she says, and then swallows.

“Dean and I don’t have sex,” he informs her, relieved to find the source of the misunderstanding, and her croissant freezes a few inches away from her mouth.

“Excuse me?”

“Do people who have sex write about it in their letters?” Cas asks next, because that seems like an _ incredibly _odd thing to do. Neither Anna or Ellen mentioned that. “What is the benefit?”

Meg is turning a little red.

“Jeez, Clarence. Are you getting back at me now or are you serious?”

Cas would be lying if he said Meg’s obvious discomfort wasn’t a little satisfying, given how much distress she’s caused him.

“Both, I think.”

She snorts.

“Right. Oh, boy. Well, yeah, people write sexy letters.”

“But why?” Cas pauses. “Oh. I suppose I enjoy reading adventure stories even if I, myself, am not captaining a boat or fighting a kraken.”

Meg bites her lip.

“Yup. Kinda like that. Except you probably don’t touch yourself when you read adventure stories. Not that I judge,” she adds hastily, and Cas frowns.

“Why would I touch myself?”

Meg looks disturbed.

“How _ old _are you, Clarence?”

‘’Meg,” he warns her, and she huffs, waving an arm.

“C’mon. You know. I—” she makes a face. “God. Okay. _ Masturbation, _Clarence,” she says emphatically, and a slight shuffle makes them both look up.

Tracy pivots, walking back the direction she just came from, lips pursed, and Meg groans.

“Oh, come on, Trace! Your timing is _ shit _!”

“I don’t want to know!” Tracy yells back.

“Sorry,” Cas offers. “Sam says it’s rude to talk about sex during meal times. I’m sure she’ll be happy to join you tomorrow if you promise not to.”

Meg just looks at him.

“See, this is why we get along,” she says finally. “You’re just as bad as me.”

Cas frowns, but says nothing.

Mostly, he’s preoccupied with the sexy letter conundrum.

“So — you write letters about sexual things and then — masturbate to them?”

She lifts her brows.

“Pretty much. But don’t send them to people who didn’t ask for them,” she warns.

“That’s good to know, although I doubt I would have sent Dean a letter like that, either way. I don’t even know if he enjoys masturbating,” he adds, and given how much effort he’d have to put into figuring out how to properly write such a letter, he’d feel terrible if Dean couldn’t even use it. Ellen told him that not everyone liked to have sex, even if they did like to masturbate. He assumes the reverse must be true, as well.

“Oh, my God,” Meg mutters.

“Actually, he probably doesn’t,” Cas continues, considering. “That’s probably why he always has someone help him with ruts.”

Meg coughs.

“You really haven’t ever helped him with that?”

“No? Before, we didn’t want to do bedroom things together, and last time, I was in heat, so I would have been a poor choice.”

Meg just stares at him.

“Wow. There’s . . . so very much, Clarence. _ So much. _ Okay, first of all, what do you _ mean, _before?”

“Excuse me?”

“You said, _ before, _you didn’t wanna do bedroom things together.” She gives him a meaningful look. “Makes it sound like somebody wants to, now.”

Cas blinks, opening and closing his mouth.

“Oh. No, I — I only meant — I meant before the last time.” In fact, while Cas remembers periods of time wherein Dean was ‘busy’ for a few days, he doesn’t remember anyone telling him when Dean had been in rut. “That that was the reason. And then after — the — the other thing. Was the reason.”

Meg tilts her head, licking her lips.

“Mhm. So _ not wanting to _is no longer the reason?” She smiles. “Just to be clear.”

Cas colors.

“No, it is. I don’t — I mean, I would, during — during a cycle, I had thought — well, it’s all — it’s tedious, and I thought we might as well do it for each other, just — just to have company — but of course, if Dean is able to find someone who is _ not _in cycle, so he doesn’t have to worry about — about — well. That’s certainly preferable.”

Meg looks amused for most of this, but by the end, she’s frowning.

“Uh, no, not usually? But anyway. What about you angel? Don’t you want a . . . helping _ hand_?”

Cas hesitates. He wonders if this is Meg offering.

“I’m not allowed,” he says, though even if he were, he’s not sure if he would say yes.

“Which is _ unbelievably _ disappointing for the rest of us, but hey, you are if it’s Dean.”

“I wouldn’t ask him to do that,” Cas says. “It’s a burden.”

Meg opens her mouth, squinting at him, and then apparently thinks better of it.

“What about you?” she settles on. “If you weren’t in cycle, would _ you _still help him?”

Cas stares.

“He’s never asked me to.”

“Not what I asked,” Meg says, and Cas knows that. Cas is still trying to figure out how to answer what she asked.

Of course, he thinks about having Dean’s help every time his heat comes around, and the one time their cycles coincided, he thought about helping one another, since they’d both be doing the work anyway.

But before that, Cas had once thought that, no matter how badly he wanted to be of service to Dean, he wouldn’t be willing.

Now, though — now that he’s decided it would be acceptable to help Dean, if Dean were helping him at the same time, would he still object to doing it if he _ weren’t _getting anything out of it?

“Oh, honey,” Meg says, suddenly, clapping him on the back. “Don’t break yourself. Here, eat my carrots.”

Cas obliges, although he’s not especially fond of raw carrots — every time he bites into one, he’s startled — and thinks about her question, about everything else he learned.

Long after lunch is over, after he’s finished training and distractedly read his book and eaten his dinner and crawled into bed, Cas is still not sure what his answer is.

But he does decide that, if Dean’s not the one asking the question — he doesn’t really need to know how to answer, does he?

With that in mind, he decides not to think about it, and quickly falls asleep.

At the end of May, Michael and his court arrive from Eden to celebrate the five-year anniversary of the treaty. He’s not very happy to find Dean missing yet _ again, _and Cas gathers that John forgot about the anniversary celebrations when he made the plans for training.

“The, ah, the uncertain weather,” John blusters when Michael notices Dean’s absence. “It’s a process — necessary, of course, given the recent wars — and we’d . . . hate to have it drag on into Fall.”

Michael just purses his lips.

“I see.”

John takes a long swig of his ale, looking deeply pained, and Cas makes a note to include a description of it in his next letter to Dean.

Michael’s party takes refreshments and then excuses themselves to rest, but just as Cas is trying to signal to Anna that he’ll meet her in her chambers, Michael clears his throat.

“I would speak to my little brother before I rest.”

“Of course.” John nods in Cas’s direction. “Visit with your brother, Castiel.”

Cas can count on one hand the number of times he’s received direct orders from John — he hardly ever sees the man — but he doesn’t like it one bit. Getting orders from Dean is a pleasure in comparison.

Especially if he’s being ordered to visit his brother, with whom Cas was never accustomed to spending one-on-one time.

“Yes, your majesty,” he says, and reluctantly follows Michael and his guards out of the room. Anna’s worried face doesn’t help his apprehension. What on earth could Michael have to say to him that’s so important he wouldn’t just delegate the conversation to one of his servants or Anna or even a letter?

There’s a little study off of Michael’s chambers, and Michael dismisses the guards to the other room while he makes himself comfortable in a large, plush armchair.

It’s strangely cozy, for a meeting with Michael. Somehow, that makes it worse.

He nearly takes a seat, but remembers he hasn’t been told to sit yet; then he almost asks what Michael wants, but once again, catches himself just in time. Even if Castiel is Lawrencian now, he’s supposed to wait for his brother to address him.

It’s all very stupid, he thinks.

Michael looks at him for a long moment, appearing to scan his figure with a strangely calculating eye.

“You look well, brother,” Michael eventually says, and gestures for him to sit.

“Thank you.” Cas settles into the chair opposite him. “As do you.”

Michael nods, considering.

“You look a different person than when I last saw you,” he continues, and Cas isn’t sure what to say to that.

“It’s been four years,” he offers, and Michael’s eyes narrow.

“Yes. Yes, it has. This is your nineteenth year, is it not?”

“Yes? September,” Cas adds, not entirely sure Michael hasn’t forgotten when his birthday is.

“Indeed. You’re quite old, now. Fully grown.”

Once again, Cas isn’t sure how to respond.

Michael sighs.

“I don’t wish to speak of . . . _ distasteful _things, Castiel, but I’m afraid I must be frank.”

“Alright?”

“Last I came here, I was given to understand you slept in _ barracks, _with any and every hoodlum enlisted in the army. It’s been four years, however, and I should hope things have changed. I assume your husband shares your bed?”

Cas blinks. This is not the question he was expecting. How are his and Dean’s sleepovers distasteful? They _are_ rather fun, Cas supposes, and Michael is generally in opposition to things that amuse people.

“Well, no; when we do, we always use Dean’s—” Cas starts, and Michael looks aghast, throwing up a hand.

“Good, God, brother! I don’t want _ details _!”

Cas frowns.

“Then why did you ask?” he asks, forgetting himself, and Michael’s mouth flattens.

“I hope you don’t speak so rudely to your husband.”

Hesitating, Cas considers what’s safe to say. Michael is as sensitive as ever.

“Dean doesn’t think I’m rude,” he finally says. A brat is not the same thing, he reasons.

“And you call him by his name. _ Lawrence, _ ” Michael mutters. “Anyway. So you _ do _share his bed?”

How _ bizarre. _Cas isn’t sure whether to be offended or fascinated by this line of questioning. It seems utterly beneath Michael to care about such things as Cas’s sleeping habits.

“Sometimes? I still live in the barracks, though.”

Frown deepening, Michael’s gaze flickers to Cas’s midsection, and Cas fights the urge to cross his arms over it.

“I see. That is a problem.” His brow furrows. “Still, I hope you’re not . . . afflicted with difficulty. How many — cycles, have you shared?”

For some reason, Cas feels his cheeks warming. Is Michael like all the people in the barracks who assume Dean helps him with his heat?

“We don’t,” he says stiffly, though he’s tempted to lie.

“What? But — you’ve begun having them, yes?”

“Yes? I’ve had quite a few.”

Michael stiffens, irate.

“What is the meaning of this, Castiel?” he demands. “No matter how displeasing he finds you, he has a _ duty, _ as your _ husband _ and your _ alpha _—”

“Displeasing?” Cas interrupts, and Michael scowls.

“And that’s another thing, Castiel. What have you done to repulse your husband, that he finds you so intolerable at such a time?”

Cas swallows. Has he? It never occurred to him that Dean declined to offer his aid for any other reason than the amount of work involved.

“Well — if — if he’s in rut at the same time, isn’t it — burdensome?”

Michael looks appalled.

“Don’t use such coarse language, Castiel! And _ no. Especially _ if he’s — _ in cycle — _he should barely be able to resist you!”

Shock usurping his unease, Cas draws back.

“I would never attack Dean while he was so vulnerable,” Cas protests, although he’s pretty sure Dean could resist him anyway. Those are not the conditions he wants to fight him under.

Michael huffs.

“I’m not suggesting you _ throw _ yourself at him! I’m suggesting you shouldn’t _ have _to! You are a fair prince of Eden, of fertile age, and it is his privilege and obligation to make your union fruitful!”

Cas just sort of looks back at him, trying to parse all of this. He’d forgotten just how _ weird _Michael was.

“I don’t understand,” he says tiredly, slumping in his chair and still preoccupied with the idea that Dean may find him disgusting. It’s not very knightly of him, but he would rather be a burden on his prince than a source of revulsion.

Michael gets a pinched look.

“For God’s sake, Castiel. You have a duty to Eden. See that it is fulfilled, however you must — _ lower _yourself to do it.”

He has the nerve to sound annoyed, when _ he _is the one making odd demands Cas cannot even begin to fathom. Cas is tired of his riddles, and too many years away have given him little tolerance for Michael’s pretensions of authority.

“You are not my king, Michael. You are not my alpha, either. The only duty I have is to Dean, and you are the one who has made it so.”

Michael’s lip curls.

“Indeed. And you are failing in your duty to him as well.”

Cas’s indignation falters a little at that.

“No, I’m not.”

“You are. The elder prince’s appetites are known throughout the continent for their voracity and lack of discrimination both. If he cannot sate them with you — not even for his kingdom — then there is a problem. And that problem is _ you. _”

Cas can feel his face growing hot, stomach sinking.

“I don’t — what are you saying? I serve Dean — _ devotedly. _ He trains me himself, daily. I am unerringly loyal, and I intend to serve as his knight — as his _ best _ knight, as his _ second _someday, for as long as I am able.”

Michael stares for a moment, and then he laughs, cold and humorless.

“Well, there’s the issue. You have become a crass, bullish, rough sort of thing. Nothing any alpha would take to bed. No wonder he turns to others.”

Cas flinches, unable to help himself.

Dean lets him into his bed as often as Cas pleases — _ invites _him to be there, much of the time — but Cas is beginning to think he understands what this conversation is about, what it’s been about from the beginning; what Michael means in his vague, silly, Edenish way.

And Cas — Cas has never thought of it in these terms. He has never asked Dean for help, determined not to cause him trouble or discomfort, and he used to be relieved that Dean didn’t want his help, either.

And though he knew, from the time he had his conversation with Anna, that he and Dean did not want to do those things together — it never occurred to him that that might be a problem. It never occurred to him to wonder _ why _Dean didn’t want to do those things with him, when he clearly has an interest in the activity, generally speaking.

He didn’t think it through at all, and he certainly never thought that perhaps Dean specifically didn’t want _ him. _That Cas might be genuinely distasteful to him. That this was something Dean’s husband should be able to do for him — outside of cycles, even, if he’s understanding correctly — and Dean was disappointed.

Michael sighs, looking over him critically.

“Would that I had had someone else to give him instead. Even Anna—”

_ Everything _ in Cas rails against that, at the idea that someone else might have stolen Cas’s place here. _ Cas _is Dean’s husband. It’s a special distinction, and Cas would fight before he relinquished his place at Dean’s side and all the advantages that come with it.

But Michael is saying Cas doesn’t belong here. That he’s not good enough, and that Dean wants others before he wants Cas; that Dean would have been happier with someone else.

That Cas is failing him.

It’s — well. It’s crushing.

Of course, Michael just looks _ satisfied. _

“For your own sake, Castiel, if not for mine, you will be much happier, and much more _ secure _in your position here, if your husband actually wants you.”

_ How_? Cas almost asks, but his pride will not allow him.

“Are you finished?” he asks tersely, and Michael narrows his eyes.

“You are dismissed.”

Cas stalks from the room without another word, furious and ashamed and suddenly very afraid of what the future holds.

It’s a difficult week. Anna and Sam and Valencia can all tell, but the shame that comes with these new realizations is a thing that burns at him constantly, making Cas’s lungs feel heavy and his whole heart singed.

He sleeps poorly, woken by nightmares he doesn’t remember, and he misses Dean desperately, though he’s convinced now that Dean doesn’t miss him much at all. It is difficult to muster amusement when he thinks he’s been selfishly enjoying a life that never should have belonged to him, and maybe even at Dean’s expense.

Cas knows he would rather be married to Dean than Sam, than anyone else. Cas knows he doesn’t want to be married at all, if he can’t be married to Dean.

He forgot to wonder if Dean felt the same, and now that he’s pretty sure he doesn’t, Cas thinks he was a fool.

He thought it didn’t matter if Dean was in love with him back, but he was wrong. It absolutely matters. Cas doesn’t want Dean to not want to be married to him. He doesn’t want him to ever find someone he’d rather be married to, someone he’d rather have sleep in his room, someone he wants to meet with instead of training Cas in the courtyard or — or _ anything. _

He thinks about the time he received that alarming letter from Anna a lot, this week. He thinks about how terrible he’d felt when Dean sent him away, and even though his broader experience with erections has taught him some empathy for Dean’s situation, he still remembers the feeling that Dean would give his attention to someone else when Cas needed him.

It was one of the worst feelings he’s ever had, and right now, he’s afraid there will come a day that he must feel that way _ all _the time.

Because he’s afraid, too, that Dean is not as happy as Cas thought, whether he knows Cas is in love with him or not.

“Cas,” Sam says at the end of the week, when they’re settled by the tree outside the kitchens. “You don’t seem, um — you don’t seem like you’re doing so well.”

“I’m fine,” Cas assures him, as he has every day, and Sam sighs.

“You’re really not. Val and your sister are both worried about you.”

“I’m aware. But I’m fine.”

“Cas.” Sam takes his hand, clasping it with both of his own and catching his eye. “Please talk to me.”

It’s not fair, Cas thinks. Sam is using the Face, the one that makes Dean groan and cave to whatever demands are being made, and when he holds Cas’s hand like that, it makes Cas feel like a child in a way that’s unexpectedly comforting. It is that last thing in particular that has him wanting to cry and tell Sam everything.

He draws in a suddenly shaky breath.

“Do you know if—” He hesitates. It’s embarrassing, to ask this, but Sam is Dean’s brother, and he loves him more than anything. Surely he’d want to help Cas make him happy? “How do I make Dean want me?”

The reassuring grip on his hand slackens a little, and Sam looks taken aback.

“Um. How, um, how do you mean that, Cas?”

“Dean — wants people. Like Pamela and the blonde that one time, and — I want to know how to make him want me like that.”

Sam is quiet for a long moment, eyes searching.

“Well. Do _ you _want him like that?”

“What?”

“Do you want him? In that way?”

“That’s not — that isn’t important.”

Sam takes a deep breath.

“Cas. Listen to me. Dean loves you, okay?”

Cas looks down. _ Does _he? He told Cas that, years ago, and never once since. He certainly doesn’t love Cas the way Cas loves him.

“And he loves spending time with you,” Sam continues, earnest. “You — you’re a _ huge _ part of what makes him happy. Whatever it is you think you have to do, or _ be — _ you don’t. You’re enough, just the way you are. And he’s _ always _going to love you, no matter what.”

Sam speaks with absolute conviction, and he knows Dean better than anyone, and Cas _trusts_ him.

But as relieved as Cas feels to hear that, it doesn’t change the need he has to know.

“But — I —”

Sam tightens his grip on Cas’s hand.

“_Do _you want him? Because if it’s just about Dean — I swear, Cas. You don’t need to do that. Dean won’t be happy if you do.”

“Why not?” he demands, and then it hits him. “Is this — is it like being in love? Is it because I’m too young?”

Cas can handle that. It does little to dull the ache in his chest, but if he could be sure that Dean was simply put off by Cas’s youth and not by Cas himself, that some day things would be different, Cas could bear it.

“I mean, that’s certainly a factor. But the most important thing is what _ you _want.”

“I want to be useful to Dean,” Cas insists, and Sam’s face darkens.

“Well, Dean doesn’t want that. I don’t know where you got the idea that he did, but all Dean wants is for you to do what makes _ you _happy.”

Cas grits his teeth, because Sam isn’t _ getting _it.

“Being useful to Dean _ will _ make me happy.” Being _ wanted _by him will, he thinks, and he’s not sure how they’re different, but they are, and he wants both.

Sam fixes him with a hard stare.

“Yeah? Well, if you do that when you don’t want Dean just for the sake of wanting him — I don’t know if Dean will ever be happy with you again. I don’t know if he’d ever _ trust _you again.”

Cas inhales sharply. He doesn’t want that. It’s the last thing he wants.

But does he _ want _Dean?

“How do I know if I want him? How can I tell?”

Sam hesitates.

“It’s hard to say, Cas. I know you love Dean — all the ways you _can _love someone — but that’s different than this kind of stuff. I mean, if you think about—” He makes a face. “_Being _with Dean, in that way — do you think you’d, um, want to?”

Cas doesn’t know. He doesn’t know what all his dreams mean, or why it feels so nice to think about Dean during his heat, why the dreams and thoughts the rest of the time feel that way, too, or why he often thinks about that kiss in the courtyard and wonders.

Or if he’d ever help Dean, if his rut came and Cas wasn’t in cycle, too.

“I don’t know,” he admits. “I’m not sure.”

Sam nods.

“Then — think about it, I guess. And if the answer is yes, then you can figure out the other thing. But if the answer is no — if you _ ever _do something you don’t like just because Dean wants it? He’d be devastated.”

Cas swallows, hard, but he inclines his head.

“Okay. I’ll — I’ll think about it.”

Sam squeezes his hand one more time, and then lets go, giving him a small smile.

“Good. Let’s read for a bit, okay?”

Cas opens his book and turns the pages, but he doesn’t get much reading done at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * SPOILERS *
> 
> Implied Dean/other: Dean’s rut hits. He invites Linus to help him, but Linus leaves after two hours because Dean is experiencing some dysfunction. Linus recommends Dean talk to Ellen, but Dean assures him he is fine.


	8. Part VIII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: Flirting/referenced Dean/other (relevant scenes marked with ** at the beginning and end, see end notes for details), characters having heats/ruts, platonic greeting kisses between Cas/others. Please let me know if I forgot something.

The thing about thinking is that it’s fickle and unpredictable and generally very uncooperative with one’s intent.

Cas can’t seem to _stop _thinking about things he doesn’t want to think about at all, and yet, when there’s something he _should _think about, something he _needs _to think about, it’s as if his brain shies away like a skittish horse and wanders everywhere but where it’s meant to go.

When he tries to think about wanting Dean, his lungs seize and his heart stops, and after a moment of blank silence, his mind dances off in a new direction.

Often, that direction is toward the consequences if he decides he _doesn’t _want Dean, which are still much easier to think about.

It’s especially bad when the post comes, and he both has a new letter to read and an obligation to write something back. Dean’s next letter contains an agreement to tell Cas dirty jokes followed by three paragraph’s worth of scratched out lines, which are then followed by a promise to do it next time.

(He does, although then Cas is obligated to write back and ask why something banana-like in someone’s pocket would indicate pleasure at encountering a person. At no point since his arrival in Lawrence has anyone offered him something from their pockets on meeting, so it can’t possibly be some sort of Lawrencian greeting ritual.

Unless no one is ever happy to see him, but that doesn’t seem right.)

Much as he enjoys these letters, and the reassurance that comes when Dean remarks on how dull it is at the camps and how much he misses home, Cas longs for Dean’s return more than ever, and he wishes there were some way to seek comfort from him. _Next time, be busy thinking around me, okay? _Cas has not forgotten that, and even if he can’t tell Dean what’s on his mind, he knows Dean’s company would make him feel better anyway.

As it is, Dean is not here, and when Cas sits down to write, he’s not sure what to say.

_What would it be like if I did want you? _Cas wants to ask, but he can’t even bring himself to imagine it, so a letter from Dean explaining _that _would probably remain unopened and therefore useless.

Assuming it didn’t upset Dean too much for him to respond at all. After all, until Cas decides whether he does or doesn’t want Dean, and figures out how to make Dean want _him _if he does, Dean currently _doesn’t._

In light of that, a communication of any of Cas’s current struggles would be very unwelcome.

So Cas does his best to organize his thoughts (he doesn’t succeed) and he reads Dean’s letters carefully and writes his own even more so, and he is so preoccupied with all of these things that when his heat hits at the end of June, he’s startled.

“Seven months,” Ellen remarks. “Let’s hope it stays right around here.”

“It’s too hot for this,” Cas protests, and she pats his head.

“Too bad your body doesn’t care. Go on and get comfortable in your usual room.”

Cas hesitates.

“Do you think I need to be here? In the infirmary?”

She gives him a funny look.

“Trust me, hon, neither you or anybody else wants you in the barracks right now.”

“No, no, of course not, but — maybe I could stay in the castle?”

Ellen gives him a quizzical smile.

“You hate your room. I don’t think you’ve been in there in a couple years.”

Cas is honestly not sure he remembers where it is, but that’s beside the point.

“I thought I could stay in Dean’s room. It’s more, uh. It’s more comfortable.”

Which is absolutely true — however, it also still probably smells like Dean, and Cas knows from the time Dean brought him a blanket that things that smell like Dean are extremely comforting when he’s suffering like this.

“I don’t know, Cas. I’m not sure Dean would be okay with that.”

“Dean always lets me sleep in there when he’s here.”

Ellen raises her brows.

“And d’you think he’d let you sleep in there if he were here right now?”

Cas turns red. As much as he likes to imagine Dean being there during his heats, if only as a comforting presence, the idea of _actually_ spending who knows how many days in Dean’s bed managing his heat _while Dean was present __—_

“N-no. Probably not.”

“Uh-huh.”

“But he’s not here. It’s like — well, it’s like borrowing something. And I don’t think he’ll mind.”

She mulls this over, although there’s a not entirely happy, knowing look in her eye.

“He’s not gonna be home for another month or so, huh?”

“They come back the first week of August.”

“Alright. Should fade enough by then,” she mutters, and then nods. “I’ll have someone check on you just as often, alright?”

“Thank you. I should be fine; I’ve done this quite a few times, now.”

“Still. Gotta make sure you’re eating and staying hydrated, and you’re able to sleep.”

Cas beams.

“You do make a wonderful tea.”

Ellen rolls her eyes.

“Let’s get you set up.”

Ellen leaves him with the dreaded cloth bag, despite his protests — “It ain’t gonna leap outta the bag and bite you, honey. Ignore it if you want.” — and Cas makes himself comfortable in the bed, curling up with a book in an effort to enjoy the few hours he probably has before it hits in full.

He falls asleep at some point, and when he wakes, his groggy brain somehow imagines Dean _is _there. Only when he rolls over, unconsciously reaching, does he wake fully, keen disappointment jarring him from the haze.

It goes like that the next few days; Cas can’t decide if it was a good idea or a bad idea to stay in here, after all. On the one hand, Dean’s scent is a great comfort, makes Cas feel safe and cozy ensconced in the blankets, and lulls him into much-needed naps and early bedtimes without Ellen’s tea even being a consideration.

On the other hand, it’s less comforting when Cas can feel his heat amping up, and more _maddening. _Every time he shifts and the blankets waft the bright, happy scent of woods and spice and winter fruit, Cas can practically feel his temperature raise.

Among _other _things.

If not thinking about Dean is difficult during Cas’s other heats, it’s impossible here, surrounded by his scent and all his things in a place they spend so much time together. Even during a break, when Cas is burrowed under all the blankets, squished between pillows and clutching his book, he resents Dean’s absence, sure that if Dean were here, he could use Dean _as _a pillow.

Perhaps, if he looked pathetic enough, he could get Dean to read to him. And maybe Dean would balance the book with one hand, and then use the other to run his fingers through Cas’s hair like he sometimes does after he dries it for him, except for more than a few seconds. Cas feels a sort of quiet bliss just picturing it.

Of course, he always remembers this is the _opposite _of knightly behavior, and demanding Dean play furniture and entertain him is probably even more of a burden than outright asking for help with the other things — but it really doesn’t stop him from daydreaming.

Which brings him to the next problem.

All those thoughts about wanting Dean that he couldn’t quite get a hold of seem to be crowding in at the edges of his brain now that it’s not particularly convenient to think about them. Cas gives in, a few times, imagines Dean being there, helping him so all Cas has to do is relax and maybe put his arms around Dean, since he’d have to be close anyway, and hugs are nice, and — and anyway, it’s all really _very_ nice, so much so that it does in fact make it _harder _not to think about the next time.

But does it _count_? If Cas can’t or doesn’t think about it when he’s not — well, like _this _— then wouldn’t that be his true answer? Having help seems to be a fairly normal thing, so maybe what he wants right now is to have someone else deal with it.

Which says nothing about the rest of the time, does it? After all, Dean enjoys these kinds of activities outside of his cycle, and given that cycles are a negligible fraction of the time . . .

What Cas wants during one is irrelevant to his problem.

It’s immensely frustrating, and Cas still feels guilty and unsure whether he should be thinking of Dean right now or not; and even though he usually feels better when things settle down enough for him to go out on the field, the moment he steps foot outside Dean’s room, he wants to turn around and bury himself under the blankets and never come out.

It’s a very trying heat, and he’s immensely relieved when it dissipates completely after four days.

His other troubles remain, of course, but Dean won’t be home for a month.

Cas has time.

Dean’s taking a fucking vacation when he gets back home; he never wants to see another training setup again.

The last four months felt longer than the _war_, he swears to God. Cas will probably be annoyed, but he’s spending at least two weeks sitting under the damn tree with everybody. If Cas wants bonus training, he can go hassle Bobby.

Dean is _so fucking tired._

“Really? I couldn’t tell,” Benny drawls, and Dean throws him a disparaging look.

“Like you’re not.”

“Didn’t say that,” he returns mildly, smirking. “But I’m not bitchin’ about it, either.”

Not _yet. _One more mile of woods and _then _the bitching will set in.

Ever since Purgaea, Benny gets antsy.

“Ooh, I want a turn to bitch!” Charlie says, and Dean inclines his head.

“Knock yourself out, Chuckles.”

“First things first: I miss my bed.”

Dean grunts in agreement.

“I mean, it’s not as nice as your bed, by all accounts,” she continues, and Dean decides not to think about those implications, “But I have a feather mattress!”

“Really?” Benny wonders. “Thought that willowy thing from the tavern was allergic.”

Charlie sighs.

“Right? I was gonna get a new one, but she dumped me right before I left. Apparently four months is too long to wait,” she says bitterly.

Dean blinks.

“Dude, you were pickin’ up at the first outpost within the week.”

Charlie sniffs.

“I was nursing a broken heart. Shut up.”

“Yeah, chief,” Benny says good-naturedly. “You’re just jealous you weren’t gettin’ any.”

“Hey, I could have if I wanted,” Dean objects. “There were towns and shit.”

Benny glances over, and there’s something like curiosity there.

“Uh-huh. Funny that you didn’t.”

“What does that mean?”

Benny shrugs.

“Means it’s funny that you didn’t.”

“Not that funny,” Charlie interjects, before Dean can try and shove Benny off his horse, because what the _fuck. _“Not really funny at all. Very reasonable. Anywho, back to mattresses—”

“Hey, wait,” Ash calls up. “Teddy’s got a point.”

Benny makes a face, and if Ash didn’t seem to be agreeing with him, Dean would laugh.

Ash rides up a little closer, scratching his chin.

“I don’t remember you comin’ out to the capital taverns, either, my friend.” Ash frowns. “You’re not havin’ problems with the little captain, are you?”

Charlie snorts, but Dean just tenses, remembering the unfortunate circumstances Linus left under.

He hasn’t tr— that is, had _time _to try since, but good ol’ self administration is working just fine, so _no, _he doesn’t think there’s anything wrong with the _little captain._

“I’m good,” he mutters.

These assholes have the nerve to exchange looks, and Ash gawps a little.

“Woah.” He blinks. “Like, _woah. _Didja talk to Doc Harvelle, or what? That’s not cool, man. I’m so sorry.”

Dean takes a deep breath, plastering on a smirk as he rolls his eyes.

“Look, just ‘cause I don’t fuck people on bartops doesn’t mean I don’t do it in private.”

Ash looks wounded.

“Aw, c’mon. That was o— uh, two — three? Times!”

Charlie puts a hand to her face.

“And I had _just _about forgotten that. Thanks for that.”

Ash salutes her, but on Dean’s other side, Benny’s looking thoughtful.

“Hmmm,” he noises, long and slow, and Dean gently guides his horse a little closer, more toward shoving distance.

Benny’s own canters ahead a bit, and he grins.

“Not so fast, brother.”

Dean shrugs.

“Worth a shot.”

“Anyway,” Charlie continues. “It’s Dean’s business if he doesn’t feel like picking up random townspeople on the road, or if he has a medical condition—”

“I don’t,” Dean grits out.

“Or even if he’s just, you know, working through some stuff!”

Dean blinks.

“What?”

“So lay off his little captain, okay?”

Ash looks appropriately contrite.

“Sorry, dude. My bad.”

“What?” Dean repeats, and Charlie slaps him on the back.

“Ooh, hey, town up ahead! I sure could use a drink, how ‘bout you guys?”

Charlie’s horse trots ahead, taking her out of questioning range and leaving Dean rather disturbed.

**

He forgets about it once they make it to the town and book a room at the inn; Dean sends a messenger ahead to the castle to let them know he’s only a couple days away, and then he gets good and plastered and doesn’t respond to the come-hither grins of the buxom barmaid who indulgently tells Ash a string of bad knock-knock jokes that have him howling with laughter.

He probably could, and maybe he should, but he should also get a good night’s sleep if he’s going to be traveling, and he won’t, if he invites her back to his room.

Because if he does that, they’ll probably go several rounds, because there’s _nothing wrong _with Dean’s little captain, and that will take most of the night, so it’s just — it’s just not responsible.

**

And Dean is nothing if not responsible, right? Which is actually the whole reason he hasn’t been getting laid, and you know what, fuck his squad. They’ve never had to be Prince and Commander, or else they’d understand.

Anyway, Dean goes to bed alone, and consoles himself with imagining how awesome it’ll be to finally go home until he falls asleep.

Two days later, they hear the gate horn announce their arrival, and half an hour after that, they’re at the gate and as it’s raising, he can see the small crowd beyond. It’s not gonna be as crazy as the last few times, since it’s just him and his squad, but Dean honestly doesn’t care either way.

Just as long as the important people are there.

He picks Sam out right away, because he’s a giant these days, and needs to look no further to find Valencia and Cas. Valencia’s arm is linked with Cas’s, and Dean doesn’t bother holding back a grin when it becomes apparent that she’s partially holding him back.

God damn, does it feel good to see them.

He dismounts the moment he’s inside the gate, handing the reins to the waiting stablehands with a quick thanks, and then he’s striding forward just as Cas breaks out of Valencia’s hold and meets him halfway.

Dean’s sort of disappointed not to get a tackling hug, even though the last one nearly threw out his back because Cas isn’t exactly small anymore. Instead, Cas’s anxiousness melts into a weird hesitation, and he gives Dean an almost _shy _look, although Cas is the least shy person Dean knows, if only because he rarely knows when he _should_ be embarrassed; and even when he is, it makes him more irritable than shy.

Dean shuffles closer, suddenly a little unsure.

“Hello, Dean,” Cas says, and Dean relaxes slightly. It’s nice to hear it again, even though it’s only been four months.

“Hey, Cas.”

Cas inches forward, expression still a little weird, and then suddenly he’s tugging at the front of Dean’s tunic, grip tight, and tilting his chin up.

And sure, it’s not like Dean didn’t think of this, about what happened last time he came home, but that was a ridiculous, transparent lie Cas told in order to try kissing Sam, and it never occurred to Dean that Cas would bother maintaining the ruse when he _had_ to know they both knew that’s what it was.

But then there’s a soft pair of lips on his, firm nonetheless, and Cas’s fresh, petrichor and sweet red apple scent is blindsiding him in the sudden proximity.

Dean blamed surprise the first time, and he blames it this time, too, even when he feels Cas’s hands tighten in his tunic and Dean’s head automatically tilts to account for the increased pressure on his mouth and wait, _what the fuck _—

Cas finally breaks the kiss, but he doesn’t go far, turning his head so that his stubble slides along Dean’s cheek as his arms move up to wrap around him in a hug.

“Welcome home Dean,” he whispers, breath warm against Dean’s neck, and Dean’s startled to realize he’s already hugging him back.

He takes a deep breath.

“Uh. Thank you. It’s, uh, it’s — good. To be home.”

Even if Cas is taking things _way too far, _and oh _fuck, _how is Dean even going to begin having _this _conversation with him?

He just sort of stands there, dumb and shell-shocked and arms tight around Cas’s waist, and he has no idea how much time passes before Benny starts coughing and Charlie starts whistling and Dean realizes he is a giant fucking moron.

What the hell is he even worried about? It’s fine. Cas is a stubborn son of a bitch and he’s too embarrassed to admit he lied, but all Dean has to do is call him on his bullshit and let Cas be all annoyed and huffy for a few minutes and then it’ll be fine.

Not a big deal.

Jesus, all the travel is getting to him.

Cas sighs, the exhalation tickling through the hair on Dean’s neck and bringing him to mortified awareness.

“Okay, huggy-bear,” he manages, gruff, and lets his hands drop. “Charlie probably wants a hug from you, too.”

Cas usually doesn’t hug Charlie until they make it into the hall, generally preoccupied with Dean, but Dean can feel his whole face turning red and since it’s neither cold enough or hot enough for that, he’s desperate to draw attention away from it.

Cas hesitates, and then finally steps back, looking uncertain.

And then he sort of squares his shoulder and goes to Charlie and —

Oh, for _fuck’s _sake.

There’s a strange noise off to the side, but Dean’s too busy watching Cas plant one on an extremely startled ginger to figure out who made it and why.

“Welcome home, Charlie,” Cas says, giving her a big, slightly awkward hug, and then—

“Wait—” Dean starts, just as Benny jerks in surprise, but it’s too late. Cas has already pushed up on his toes, gripping Benny’s massive shoulders for support as he brushes their lips together.

This is Dean’s worst fucking nightmare, he thinks, too alarmed to notice that’s kind of dramatic and certainly not true.

Ash elbows Benny out of the way once Cas moves back down, arms open, and when Dean catches Walt and Roy exchanging hopeful looks and inching forward behind him, he lurches forward, seizing the back of Cas’s tunic, though not quite in time to stop his lips from making contact with Ash’s.

“Yeah, no, Ash is good, Cas,” he grits out, tugging him back and giving his best menacing look to all the lecherous-looking members of his squad. Fucking perverts; Cas is a _child, _god damn it. “Everybody else is good. We’re going inside.”

Cas blinks at him, though he doesn’t resist as Dean tugs him forward and out of the way.

“No hug for us?” Val queries as he passes, and he gives her a tight smile.

“Inside. Too sunny out here.”

“Mhm,” she says, and Dean swears he sees her smirk before he’s finished passing.

It’s not funny, damn it. Cas is going _way _too far, and as soon as Dean gets him alone, he’s making sure he understands that Dean knows he’s full of it and kissing every fucking member of his squad is just — pointless. And excessive.

He glances back at Cas as he uses his free hand to pull open the door to the Hall, and blanches, nearly letting go of the handle in shock.

Cas has his fingers pressed up to his lip, expression thoughtful, and _hell fucking no. _Dean’s not sure which one of his asshole squad is putting that considering look on his face, but just _no._

He bypasses the table entirely, dragging Cas into an auxiliary pantry just outside the hall and shutting the door behind him.

Cas looks surprised.

“Aren’t we going to eat with the others?” He pauses, looking down. “Not that I’m not — very happy to see you, Dean.”

Dean’s a little thrown by that, but only for a moment, before he draws himself up and places his hands on Cas’s shoulders, grip firm.

“Cas,” he says, and Cas looks between his hands for a long moment before he finally meets Dean’s eyes.

“Uh. Yes?” he says, eyes wide and voice nearly a whisper. It’s kind of weird, but Dean’s determined to clear this up _now_.

“I know you lied.”

Cas jerks back a little, but Dean holds on, maintaining eye contact.

“’Hello’ kisses are _not_ an Edenish tradition.”

Even in the extremely dim light coming from beneath the door, Dean can see Cas’s cheeks turn red.

“I’m sure some of your books are wrong—” Cas starts, and Dean rolls his eyes.

“I don’t have to look it up to know you’re a liar, man.”

Cas sucks in a breath, opening his mouth, but Dean beats him to it.

“And even if they are — we don’t do that in Lawrence, alright? People here kiss for two reasons. You peck your kids to show affection, and for the most part, the only time you kiss unrelated adults on the mouth is when you’ve got romance or other shit going on.”

Cas’s shoulders are incredibly tense beneath Dean’s hands, jaw working.

Dean can tell he’s trying to figure out a way to explain it, and he sighs.

“Look, Cas, I get why you made that up last time, okay? I know you were dealing with . . . stuff, but you said you resolved it, so let’s just forget about it. And don’t go around kissing everyone in the castle.”

“I was only going to kiss the people who’d been aw—” he starts, and Dean about has a heart attack. He _suspected _that’s where that might be headed, but he’d been hoping Cas would have kept it to the people he usually eats dinner with.

“That’s like _twenty _people, Cas!” Dean retorts. “And like I said, Lawrencians are — weird about kissing. You meant it friendly, but some of those people would have — anyway, I don’t want them getting weird ideas about you, even if they know better than to try anything. It’s just — it’s just weird. So don’t do it, okay?”

Cas frowns, clearly baffled.

“What do you mean by wei—” Cas winces as Dean squeezes his shoulders, stepping closer. “Alright.”

“And, uh. I, uh, I know that, uh. Look, kissing’s fun,” he finally settles on, because there’s still the very serious matter of whatever Cas was touching his lips and thinking about back there. “But even if you enjoyed kissing any of those people back there, you, uh. You’re not — well, you need to forget it, alright? Charlie only likes girls and Ash is really fucking weird and Benny’s — uh. He’s — well, he’s too old for you,” Dean settles on, although he’s alarmed by his inability to think of a good deterrent.

Cas hesitates.

“I didn’t enjoy kissing any of them,” he finally says, and Dean relaxes.

“Oh. Okay. Well — good.”

“I don’t think Benny’s too old for me, though,” Cas adds, and yeah, goodbye relaxation.

“What? Of course he is! He’s _my _age, man.”

Cas purses his lips, shrugging off Dean’s hands, except for some reason he steps forward instead of back.

“Yes, and I don’t think he’s too old for me,” he says, mouth set in a firm line.

Jesus Christ, how is this Dean’s life?

“So you did enjoy kissing him,” Dean says, suddenly furious, because Cas needs to sort his fucking lies out and stop creating drama so Dean can just enjoy being back home instead of handling random crises.

Cas looks frustrated.

“No, I did not.”

“Then you shouldn’t care if he’s too old for you!”

Cas huffs.

“I’m just pointing out that I — I’m not a child. And if I wanted someone Benny’s age — if someone Benny’s age wanted _me, _then . . . I don’t think it’s a problem.”

Dean feels weirdly shocked and hollow, for some reason.

Probably because Cas is talking in terms of _wanting, _like — like he knows what that means, beyond some vague awareness that it’s a thing other people experience, and Dean feels like he’s about to have a fucking panic attack.

After all, Dad’ll kill one or both of them if Cas decides the rules are stupid and he gets it into his head to play around. And _Dean _will probably have a little murder to get done himself if the person he decides to play around with is Benny’s age, because they should _know _better.

In fact, Dean doesn’t care how old they are; _everyone _in the castle should know better.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he finally says.

“Maybe,” Cas admits. “But you don’t, either. These things vary.”

“Excuse me? _What _things?”

Cas shrugs.

“Whether I’m a — a man. Or not.”

“You’re not,” Dean says flatly, and Cas is silent for a moment.

“Fight me,” he says suddenly, and Dean recoils.

“The hell?”

“Fight me, for real. And if I win—”

“You won’t.”

“You said you would fight me, someday.”

“And I will. But not yet.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re _not _a man.”

Cas throws his hands up.

“That’s — Dean, that doesn’t make sense. How can I show you I’m a man if you won’t fight me unless I’m already a man?”

“Awesome question, Cas, let me think — oh, right, you can’t, because you’re not a man, and you won’t be a man for a long time, and Benny and anybody else you’re thinking about is off-limits.”

Cas gives him the most withering glare Dean’s ever seen, and then he turns to leave the pantry.

Dean reaches out to catch his arm without thinking.

“Wait — Cas. Come on. I don’t wanna fight with you.”

“Yes, as you’ve said—”

“No, I mean — _this. _I don’t wanna argue. I’m — God, I’ve been looking forward to being home since I left, and I — uh. I missed you, and stuff, and I don’t — can’t we just eat dinner and hang out and not . . . do this?”

Cas narrows his eyes.

“_You’re _the one who dragged me in here to lecture me—”

Dean’s about to argue that point, but then he realizes Cas is kind of right.

And clearly, Cas needed the lecture — not that Dean is entirely sure it achieved the desired effect — but still. Everyone’s probably halfway through dinner by now.

“Sorry. I just — I’m just trying to look out for you, okay?”

Cas is quiet for a minute, and then he turns, drifting back into Dean’s space and giving him a searching look.

“Thank you. I . . . I like that you do that. That you look out for me.”

Dean nods, a little embarrassed, because as angry as he was a minute ago, Cas sounds incredibly sincere right now.

“I like that it means you care,” Cas continues quietly. “But I wish you understood that sometimes — sometimes caring means knowing when your efforts make it worse.”

“Cas—” Dean starts, because the whole point of looking out for Cas is that Cas _doesn’t _understand what’s going on most of the time, not in it’s entirety, and it’s Dean’s job to make up the difference.

And then Cas raises his hand and touches his cheek, and Dean is way too startled to continue.

“I don’t want to argue, either. Obviously, we’ve, uh . . . resolved the misunderstanding of the — the tradition.” Dean thinks Cas might be blushing, but his own face is warm, especially where Cas is touching it, so maybe he’s projecting. “And I know I’m not supposed to kiss anyone. And I’m — I’m very happy you’re home.”

“And you probably wanna eat dinner,” Dean manages, although his brain isn’t doing so hot right now.

Cas nods.

“Not as much as you probably do.” He clears his throat, finally withdrawing his hand, and Dean’s cheek feels suddenly cold. “We should — do that, then.”

Dean just nods, not sure what to say.

It’s only as he’s following Cas out of the pantry that another memory falls out, one when he was freshly returned from the war with Hellenia and suddenly had Cas’s nose buried in his neck, scenting him as part of another supposed Edenish tradition.

Which opens up a whole barrel of baffling questions, and without thinking, Dean pulls Cas back, gently pushing his fingers through his hair and tilting his head to the side.

He hears Cas inhale, and then Dean presses his nose right up to the column of Cas’s throat, dragging along it lightly at he scents him.

He’s caught off guard for a moment, because while Cas smells like Cas, it’s also apparent that he’s grown up quite a bit and he smells — well, he smells like he’s probably going to break some hearts someday — but then Dean remembers his goal here.

He steps back, searching Cas’s shocked face.

“What — why did you do that?” Cas asks, and there’s a breathless quality to that rough voice, and Dean’s not sure what to do with that either.

He swallows.

“That’s the real Edenish tradition, isn’t it?” Dean prompts him, and Cas blinks, opening his mouth.

Nothing comes out, and with this whole plan, it’s like his body has a mind of its own, because the next thing Dean does is bare his own throat, looking at Cas expectantly.

Cas stares for a long moment, and then he moves forward, the tip of his nose just barely sweeping across Dean’s skin as he takes a quick, deep sniff, then lurches back like he’s been burned.

“I’m hungry,” he says abruptly, and hurries into the Hall without looking back.

Dean, for his part, straightens out and stays put for a moment, thinking.

It still doesn’t do him any good, and after a few minutes, he follows.

Cas doesn’t say much during dinner, listening intently as the rest of the squad share their own stories of the outposts and towns they’ve been visiting — certainly, despite the dullness of the mission, there was a much more relaxed, cheerful atmosphere — and Dean is distracted enough by the actual conversation and the fascinatingly silent one happening between Sam and Valencia that he mostly doesn’t worry about shit that happened in the courtyard or the pantry or any of the problems that come with it.

He gets up to steal another pie from the buffet, and takes the opportunity to snag hugs from Pam and Jody while he’s over there.

“How were things, Dean?” Jody asks, dragging an apple pie closer with a knowing smile.

“Less exciting than a war, I hope,” Pam teases, and Dean sighs.

“So fucking boring. I cannot even tell you.”

“Oh, don’t worry, Bobby’s told us enough over the years,” Jody says, raising her brows meaningfully, and Dean shudders.

“Oh, God, he’s gonna make me do it again in a few years, isn’t he?”

**

He gets a sympathetic pat on the ass from Pam.

“You bet your cute ass he is. Speaking of which-”

Jody snorts.

“And that’s my cue.”

She squeezes Dean’s arm and wanders back to a table, leaving Pam and her flatteringly lecherous grin.

“I’m gettin’ deja vu,” he jokes.

“You could be,” she drawls, and Dean laughs.

“And I’d love to, but, uh, if you recall, Cas likes to catch up the first night.”

Pamela arches a brow.

“Is that what the kids are calling it?” she asks, a weird note in her voice, and Dean gives her a quizzical smile.

“What?”

She shakes her head, patting his cheek.

“Don’t worry. I’m just teasing you.” She sighs, eyes going a little faraway in that creepy way Missouri’s do, too. “I know it isn’t time yet.”

“What?” he repeats, but she just pinches the cheek she’s holding and winks.

“Anyway. It’s good to have you home, Dean. Maybe I’ll see you tomorrow after training, instead.”

He’s still trying to figure out what the hell she’s on about, but he manages a suggestive grin and a, “Maybe I will,” before he scoops the pie up and goes back to his table.

**

Cas is staring at him as he walks back, and he doesn’t stop, even when Dean sits down and pointedly serves both of them a slice of pie.

“Do you . . .” he starts, and Dean raises a brow.

“What’s up, buddy?”

Cas hesitates.

“Pamela looked . . . happy to see you.”

Dean’s not really sure how to take that, and the joke that immediately comes to mind doesn’t seem appropriate. Sam and Cas both bullied him into sharing the most mild ones in his letters to Cas, and it still feels awkward as hell.

“Uh. Yeah. Pam’s a . . . good friend.”

Cas nods, quiet for long enough Dean takes a big bite of pie.

And then:

“Do you, uh. Do you prefer alphas? Or . . . women?”

Dean chokes.

“Uhhhm. Mwuf?”

Cas just tilts his head.

“For your, um. Bed partners?” He says it like he’s trying the phrase out and he’s not sure if it’s the right one and what the ever-living fuck happened while he was gone that Cas is suddenly talking about shit like wanting people and being old enough for other people and _now,_ what kinds of people Dean likes to fuck?

If Cas thinks Dean’s going to give him advice he’d only need for a course he _knows _he’s not allowed to take, not until they muscle out a couple of heirs way far down the road, then the kid is crazy.

Dean’s not an _idiot._

“Nah,” he finally says, once he’s chewed and swallowed, Cas watching all the while. “I’m really not picky, man. I just like, uh. Good lookin’ people I can laugh with, pretty much.”

That’s vague, right? There’s no dirty details, nothing to pique Cas’s interest and get him thinking about things he’s way too young to think about.

He’s certainly not about to tell Cas the specifics about what he enjoys doing with Pamela. After all, Pam’s an alpha, too, and he doesn’t want Cas getting this idea in his head that alphas are especially exciting bed partners, because while gender genuinely doesn’t make a difference to Dean, _Cas_ having flings with alphas puts the worst-case-scenario risks up by practically double.

Of course, Cas shouldn’t be having flings with anybody, hence why Dean’s prepared to be as vague and nonchalantly discouraging as possible if Cas keeps asking questions.

But Cas just furrows his brows and says, “I see,” and then he turns back to the conversation on his other side, and Dean is so, _so _confused.

The teenage years really are weird, aren’t they? Was _he _like this?

It’s not really until the plates are clear and the tankards are empty and all the tired travelers are drooping over their plates that a whole new problem presents itself.

Sam gets up to return to the barracks, giving Dean a big hug Dean only pretends to gripe about, and then Cas says ‘good night’ and starts off in a direction that is neither the barracks or Dean’s room.

“Dude, where are you _going_?”

Cas pauses, looking back at him uneasily.

“I just need to visit someone. I’ll go to the barracks afterward.”

And that — wow. There are _so many _things wrong with that.

First of all —

“Visit _who_? It’s bedtime, Cas, I don’t think anyone wants to see you this late.”

In his peripheral, he sees Sam give him a look, but Dean’s not wrong. It’s just _rude _to be visiting people at this hour, unless of course you’re visiting them for _reasons, _which Cas sure as hell had better not be.

Cas’s eyes narrow.

“I don’t see that it’s any of your business.”

“Wow, _that’s _not suspicious. And another thing — I thought we talked about you walking back alone.” Of course, Dean also assumed Cas would just sleep in the castle tonight, but apparently Cas entered some hellish teenage phase since he left (again), and maybe Dean shouldn’t be making assumptions right now.

Cas stares.

“Dean, I am going to be _nineteen _in a month, and we are currently not at war with anyone.”

“But the _buddy system,_” Dean insists. “Sam, tell him.”

“Um—”

Cas just huffs.

“Sam walks back alone all the time, and even if I were to slip and fall, I wouldn’t freeze to death. It’s _August._”

“You could hit your head and bleed out, though,” Dean argues. “Just sleep in the castle.”

Cas averts his eyes.

“I . . . promised I would visit Alfie in the infirmary,” he says, and Dean would bet his favorite horse that’s a lie. “Another night.”

Oh, so now Cas is suddenly too old and grown-up to have sleepovers?

Fuck this shit.

“Fine, I’ll go with you on your little errand and then I’ll walk you back.”

Cas gives him an impatient look.

“Then _you’ll _be walking back alone. And I don’t want you to come on my errand.”

Dean sucks in a breath, feeling vaguely like he’s stepped into an alternate reality.

Is this really just Cas being pissy over the pantry lecture, or did that much change in four months?

And — are those changes going to be for _good_?

“Fine,” he mutters. “Do whatever the hell you want.”

And then he storms off to his room by himself and angrily bathes and then lies in bed for a good two hours before he starts to drift off.

He still sleeps like shit.

As exasperating as Dean can be, having him snap at Cas and stomp away is a terrible experience, enough that Cas’s irritation bleeds right out of him, replaced by a tremendously powerful urge to chase after him and soothe his anger.

Still — the stubborn part of Cas knows Dean’s being unreasonable, and if he doesn’t go see Rowena tonight, he’ll have to wait until tomorrow, which means he’ll have to wait until the day after _that _to implement his plan, and he’s impatient to get started.

And of course, there’s yet _another _part of Cas that barely caught a word of what was said at dinner, too preoccupied with courtyard kisses and Dean scenting him outside the pantry and everything else he’s spent the last few months struggling with, and that part feels an unfamiliar anxiety at going to sleep with Dean in his room.

He’s sure he’ll be fine tomorrow. It’s just — tonight — after Dean did that, after Cas had to step forward and scent him in return, Dean’s scent so strong and lovely that Cas had the urge to just wrap around him and _lick his neck _— Cas feels a little awkward.

Dean coming home after being gone always throws him off balance, he reasons. This, too, shall pass.

“Um. Wow. Dean seems kind of . . . on edge tonight,” Sam says, and Cas sighs.

“He’s probably tired from his travels. Also, I’m not doing what he says, which _always _makes him cranky.”

Sam shrugs.

“We all have our flaws. So, um. What’s this mysterious errand, anyway?” Cas supposes the question is reasonable, although Sam’s tone is kind of funny.

“I want to ask Rowena’s help with something.”

Sam waits.

“What kind of something?” he says eventually, and Cas frowns. Sam is as curious as Dean is overbearing.

Though, he supposes it doesn’t hurt if Sam knows.

“I want to play a joke on Dean.”

Sam raises his brows.

“Oh.”

“The two of you — you have — prank wars? Sometimes. I want to do something like that.”

“Oh,” Sam says again, though he looks less perturbed. “So like — a fun joke. Not a . . . malicious joke.”

Cas frowns. Sam’s not usually dumb.

“Why on earth would I play a malicious joke on Dean?”

Sam shrugs, brushing his hair back.

“Yeah, that’s, um, that’s what I was wondering, but if you’re not, then — cool. Dean enjoys pranks. Although, be ready for retaliation.”

Cas sighs.

“That’s what I’m hoping Rowena can help me with. I don’t want it to be that kind of prank. Nothing — inconvenient. Just . . . funny. To make him laugh.”

Sam nods.

“Oh. Okay. Well, let me know what you come up with? I’ll think about it, too, just in case.”

Cas smiles.

“Thank you. I appreciate it. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Rowena’s enthusiasm for helping him dims somewhat when he stresses that the prank not be _malicious _in any way — “I want him to _laugh._” — but she nonetheless obliges, instructing him to come back tomorrow afternoon to collect his prize.

She lightly touches her finger to the tip of his nose, chortling a little when he scrunches his face.

“Run along, my wee pet. Best rest up if we’re going to be causing Princes hysteria tomorrow.” Cas frowns at her, and she lifts her brows innocently. “Of the humorous kind. Good night, dear.”

Cas does visit Alfie in the infirmary, sharing what few stories he’d managed to pay attention to, and then passes a fitful night in the barracks, half-wishing he’d put aside his unease and gone to sleep with Dean anyway.

It’s just — it’s difficult. Cas has not yet reached an answer to his conclusion — in some ways, he thinks he’s been waiting for Dean to come home, first — but he knows which direction he’s leaning in.

As mortifying as it was to have Dean call his bluff on the kisses, Cas doesn’t regret trying to maintain the story. He’d fretted over it all the last month, but fairly quickly determined that the other problem — the question of whether he does or does not want Dean — might be aided by a test of sorts.

Anna told him kissing can be a part of all the things that being in love with someone — or just being attracted to someone — makes you want to do. And Dean confirmed for him today that kisses are generally reserved for that kind of interaction.

And Cas . . . Cas thinks about kissing Dean a lot. He doesn’t dare put a number on the amount of times he’s replayed the one kiss they’d shared in his head, but he knows it would be a large number if he did.

The only question is — why _does _he think about kissing Dean so often? It was so brief and surprising to him that he hesitates to say, definitively, that he enjoyed it, and since it was such a new and curious thing, perhaps that is the only reason it so often intrudes on his thoughts and dreams.

But maybe it does mean something, and Cas thought — perhaps he would know for sure if he kissed Dean again. If he paid more attention this time.

So when Dean entered the courtyard and Cas went to meet him, he gathered up his nerve, as any proper knight would, and kissed him.

And then he kissed _three _other people, considerably less distracted than he was when he kissed Sam, and was startled to realize those other kisses were rather educational as well.

Namely, kissing people besides Dean feels different.

Not necessarily a _bad _different; Cas is very fond of Charlie and Benny and Ash, and he doesn’t begrudge them such small contact, although he does think it would have been tedious to kiss all twenty members of Dean’s squad, especially the ones he didn’t know as well.

But still — it was a _not as good _different. Cas is fairly certain he wouldn’t have minded kissing Dean a little longer; he’s not sure _how _long he would continue enjoying it, but the idea of prolonging any of the other kisses leaves him cold. Though he planned it this time, kissing Dean was nearly as much of a shock as it was the last time, leaving Cas pleasantly warm and breathless and — and sort of tingly all over, like when he puts special salts in the tub before bathing.

Curiously, it wasn’t the same with the others. Cas was too busy being mortified when he kissed Sam, so maybe if he’d been more present, he _would_ have found it similar to kissing Dean, on account of their more equal closeness, but imagining it doesn’t feel similar at all; even if Cas could get Sam to participate in another trial, he doubts there would be any point.

He really doesn’t _want _to.

No, Cas is pretty sure the only person he wants to kiss is Dean — even though he’d only set out to establish whether or not he wanted to kiss Dean at all — and that unexpected information seems . . . significant.

Of course, if Cas does want to kiss Dean — and he must, because the idea of testing it further holds a suspicious amount of appeal — does that mean he wants other things?

Cas isn’t sure, nor can he test such a thing.

Besides, Dean made it clear he doesn’t like it when Cas lies. And that Cas has not yet reached that indeterminate age where things will be okay, where maybe Dean could love Cas back, the way Cas loves him.

So Cas will simply have to continue cautiously thinking about it, and leave it at that.

Which isn’t to say he can’t do other things, like asking Dean questions about the kind of people he might want.

And while Cas thinks he and Dean laugh together often enough, Dean is the funnier of the two, and Cas isn’t sure if all the people in the castle who affectionately call him cute and handsome are saying he’s _actually _good-looking. Therefore, he concludes, he ought to try harder at the first thing and thoroughly investigate the second thing.

Hence, the visit to Rowena.

Cas is relieved to find Dean waiting outside the barracks the next morning, although Dean mumbles something that sounds a lot like a complaint at having to walk all the way there. Cas is about to tell him he doesn’t have to walk him to breakfast all the time, if it’s really an inconvenience, but the words stick in his throat and he decides Dean can decide that for himself.

He really likes that Dean walks him to breakfast; he hopes Dean is just grumpy this morning.

“So, how’d your mysterious errand go?” Dean asks, and Cas jerks his gaze away from Dean’s fist where it’s clenched at his side. He can’t help but think that Dean is too tense this morning, that maybe if Cas reached out and . . . held his hand, or something, it would help.

“Um,” he says, trying to focus on the question. “Oh. It went well.”

There’s a long silence.

“Right. Awesome.”

Cas licks his lips, and reaches for Dean’s hand.

“You’ll be stiff at practice,” he says, just as Dean stumbles to a halt, staring at where Cas is gently uncurling the fist.

“Uh.”

Dean’s hand is warm, and holding it feels nice. Cas wonders, if he lied about his hands being cold, then maybe Dean wouldn’t make him let go.

Even as he thinks it, the hand sort of wiggles out of his grasp, disappearing into a trouser pocket.

“Thanks,” he coughs.

“Is everything okay?” Cas asks, trying not to sound too wistful, and they resume walking.

Dean shrugs.

“Yeah. Didn’t sleep well.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.” Cas hesitates. “Neither did I. Maybe we ate too much.”

Dean gives him a sidelong glance, frowning.

“Yeah. Maybe.”

They walk the rest of the way in silence, Cas’s palm tingling where it had rested against Dean’s.

Curious.

Cas’s mood dampens a little when Dean sits down and serves himself without a second glance at Cas’s plate, but Dean _is _in a bad mood this morning, so perhaps he simply forgot.

Of course, Cas is _well _past an age where he should be letting someone else prepare his plate, let alone his Prince and Commander, but it’s — well, it’s routine.

And Dean’s also his husband, isn’t he? So — so there are a lot of things that are reasonable, even if they wouldn’t normally be. Like sleeping in Dean’s room, for instance.

Still, Cas can’t help but move a little sullenly as he scoops eggs and bacon onto the dish. He’s barely set it back down before there’s an insultingly generous helping of raw carrots dumped on the edge.

“Yeah, don’t give me that look,” Dean warns. “You’ll thank me later.”

He turns back to his own plate, then pauses, nudging Cas’s glass of water toward him.

“Unless you don’t drink that, too, in which case . . . can’t help you, buddy.”

Cas wants to argue, but Dean’s already upset this morning, which doesn’t bode well for his joke, so he reluctantly cleans his plate, wincing every time he bites into a carrot.

They’re just so _loud. _Food shouldn’t be _loud. _If a piece of meat were that noisy, you’d still be hunting it.

Cas finishes first, for once, and excuses himself early.

“Where you headed now, man?” Dean asks, a faint scowl present. Cas hesitates.

“I have to pick something up, but then I’m going to field.”

He hastens away before Dean can ask any more questions and spoil the surprise.

Rowena is delighted to see him, especially when he produces from his pocket a still-warm popover he swiped on his way out. She keeps different hours than the rest of the castle, so she’s rarely ever at breakfast, but Cas assumes everyone likes snacks and Rowena should be no different.

She provides him with three little pouches and jars, carefully labeled, and gives him strict instructions for their use.

The joke sounds amusing enough. Cas feels a little bad that he didn’t think of it himself, but he thought it would be better to impress Dean.

Rowena assures him Dean will be very impressed, and with a startling pat on his bum, sends him on his way.

Training seems to take _forever _today. Cas uses his lunch to sneak back to the castle and set things up, painstakingly minding Rowena’s instructions — “I’d hate for anyone to set themselves aflame, wouldn’t you?” — and the minute they’re finished for the day he finds Sam and asks him to tell Dean to meet Cas in the hallway outside his chambers.

Sam looks extremely curious, but he doesn’t ask, and Cas hurries off to wait.

Twenty minutes later, Dean appears at the end of the hall, visibly confused.

“Dude, why wouldn’t you just wait in the courtyard?”

Cas shrugs, but stays put, waiting for Dean to come to him.

“I wanted to . . . tell you something.”

If anything, Dean tenses up.

“Yeah? What’s that?”

Cas stays silent, looking back at Dean with his best neutral expression until Dean comes to a stop in front of him.

“So? Here I am. What’s up?”

Cas takes a deep breath, and then sticks out his hand.

“Pull my finger,” he instructs him, and Dean’s expression melts in surprise.

“Uh. What?”

“Pull my finger,” Cas repeats, and Dean stares at him for a long moment before he hesitantly reaches out, loosely wrapping a hand around Cas’s finger and tugging.

Beside them, the candelabra on the plant-stand bursts into flames.

The next moment, Cas’s back hits the wall across from it, Dean’s hand behind his head, cushioning it as Dean curls around him, cursing loudly.

Dazed, he tugs at Dean’s tunic, trying to get him to stop shouting.

“Fuck, I don’t even — are you okay?” he demands, once he’s called for guards. “I have no idea what that was-”

“Dean — it — it’s fine — it’s just the candles—”

“Candles don’t just fucking burst into flames! For all we know, that was meant to be an explosion—”

“It was a _joke_!” Cas cries, wriggling his hand up to grab Dean’s chin, forcing him to look at him. “I was — that was _me, _I did that, it’s — it’s alchemy.”

Dean blinks, startled, and then jerks his head out of Cas’s grasp.

“_What_? Why the _fuck _would you wanna set something on _fire_? As a _joke_?”

Cas flushes. Oh, God, maybe he _should _have thought of a joke by himself.

“It was — I don’t — Rowena helped me,” he explains, cheeks burning. “You — you were supposed to laugh.”

“Well, it wasn’t funny!” Dean retorts, and there’s a nearing commotion at the end of the hall. “I thought we were being _attacked_!”

Cas just shrugs, helpless.

“I’m sorry.” And he is. He’s sorry he sent Dean into a panic, and he’s sorry he attempted such a foolish thing in the first place.

Clearly, neither he or Rowena properly assessed Dean’s sense of humor, which doesn’t bode well for that half of Dean’s requirements.

“Your highness?” One of the guards queries, hesitantly approaching, and Dean glances over, making a face.

“False alarm. Cas played a — a _stupid _joke, and I misunderstood. Everything’s fine.”

“If you’re sure.”

The guard gives them a kind of funny look, and Dean abruptly withdraws his hand from behind Cas’s head, stepping back.

Cas slowly straightens up from the wall.

“I’m sure. As you were.”

The woman nods, turning back the way she came and beckoning the others to follow.

Left on their own, Dean sighs and shakes his head, then looks at the candelabra.

“What’d you use on that? Is it safe for me to put it out the normal way?”

Cas nods, still processing his failure.

“The ignition powder would have burned away. It’s fine.”

“Alright.” Dean takes the snuffer and makes quick work of putting out the flames, Cas watching in dismay.

How embarrassing, he thinks numbly.

And then the full extent of what happened hits him.

“That was foolish,” he bites out, suddenly furious.

Dean throws him an annoyed look, setting down the snuffer.

“Your prank? Yeah, I agree.”

“No. You — you shielded me.”

Dean lifts his brows.

“Uh, yeah? I thought either something was going to explode or somebody was comin’ after us.”

Cas takes a deep breath, clenching his fists.

“Dean, I’m your _knight. _If there’s a threat, I should be between it and _you._”

Dean stares at him for a moment.

And then he laughs.

“Yeah, no,” he chuckles. “You’re not a knight yet, and even when you are, just — no. That’s not how this works.”

“That is the very _definition _of a knight and his Prince—” Cas starts, and Dean gives him an unimpressed look.

“No, the definition of a knight and his prince is you do what I tell you to, and I’m tellin’ you, Cas, _that’s not how this works._ If you _ever _do something to get yourself hurt instead of me, I swear to God I’ll kill if you’re not already dead.”

“It’s a knight’s honor and privilege—” Cas protests, although knight or not, he’s not sure he could bear it, anymore, if something happened to Dean.

Dean moves swiftly back into his space, crowding him against the wall and staring him down.

Cas isn’t cowed, though. He keeps his spine straight and his head up and stares right back.

“Cas,” Dean says lowly, eyes hard. “This is not a joke. Now, I appreciate that you take being a knight seriously — I do — but you should keep this in mind: if I think there’s even a _small_ chance I can’t trust you to keep _yourself_ safe first? You’re not becoming a knight, and you sure as hell aren’t riding into battle with me.”

“You promised I could be a knight, Dean,” Cas growls back, adrenaline making him bold. “And, I assume, all that entails.”

Dean looks at him for a long moment, and then shakes his head.

“This ain’t Eden, buddy. You’re loyal to your country, not your crown.”

“I don’t think your father would agree.”

“Well, you’re not my father’s knight, are you?” Dean challenges, and Cas takes a deep breath, pushing forward, forcing Dean to step back.

“And according to you, I’m not _yours_ yet, either. So, actually, for the time being — I can do whatever I want.”

Cas turns and stalks down the hall without waiting for a response.

After all, why bother? Dean clearly doesn’t understand _anything._

Every _fucking _time.

That’s it. Benny’s a damn fine teacher once you get past the lethargy, and he can go do all the training bullshit next time, because unless somebody’s bringing a major war to Lawrence’s doorstep, Dean’s not budging from the castle.

Because _apparently, _as soon as he goes away, Cas gets all kinds of crazy ideas into his head, and when Dean comes home everything’s weird and there are problems and he and Cas go through some shitty, awkward, sort-of-fight, and Dean is sick of it.

And yeah, maybe they would have had this fight eventually — Dean’s just lucky he hasn’t had to have it with Sam, yet — but still.

What the hell goes on around here while he’s away?

Anyway, he woke up in a foul mood, he kept snapping at people in training until people finally started snapping back, and Cas just about gave him a heart attack with his dumbass joke.

Cas _never _plays pranks. Dean’s not sure _what _phase he’s going through, right now, but he sure as hell hopes it’s brief. He doesn’t think he can tolerate Cas being a surly dick _and_ scaring the crap out of Dean at random intervals.

Although, right about now, he doesn’t think he can tolerate pretty much anything. The idea of going out to the courtyard to train with Cas and Sam and Val is definitely out of the question, but even sitting down to dinner later just makes him grit his teeth.

And all the fuss is making him hot, he realizes, wiping away the sweat beading at his temple. In fact, he just generally feels like _shit _now, except the kerfuffle with the fire has him feeling kind of wired and jittery, and he almost wishes he could summon his team back for an emergency training session and throw some people around.

Hell, maybe he _should _go down to the courtyard. Would serve Cas right if Dean pinned him down and didn’t let him up for a fucking _hour, _after the stunt he pulled; then he can feel just as frustrated and exhausted as Dean does.

Which — as badly as he slept, why is he so fucking tired? He wants to fall into bed or go fight something and it’s way too hot in here, besides, and —

And _son of a bitch._

It’s his _rut._

Well, at least it’s only a couple weeks early, he consoles himself, trudging to his conveniently nearby bedroom. Clearly, he’s not syncing up with Cas yet, so it shouldn’t be too bad. And since he’s having it at all, it also means the next one, even if it’s early, won’t be bad, either.

You just have to be thankful for the little things, right?

Dean doesn’t come down to the courtyard, and it only makes Cas angrier.

This is so _typical _of Dean; Cas is tired of being punished when _Dean _is the one being unreasonable.

Since Dean’s not there, Cas leaves Sam and Valencia and goes into the Hall early, where he begs a more portable meal off the kitchen staff, and then he heads back to the barracks to sulk— that is, to _ruminate_ on his misfortunes.

He doesn’t really feel better, afterward (he never does). All his anxiety over kisses and scenting and trying to make Dean laugh are long gone, and tonight there’s just rage. It’s one thing for Dean to treat Cas like a child in other matters, to refuse to fight him, but putting _himself _in harm’s way instead?

Cas has never been so upset and offended in his _life._

Not to _mention, _now Cas can’t sleep in the castle tonight, and it is entirely Dean’s fault. Dean was _supposed _to laugh, and then they were supposed to train in the courtyard, and then they were supposed to enjoy dinner together, and then Cas, presumably feeling more normal about things than yesterday, was supposed to follow Dean up for their baths and then curl up on his side of the bed and discreetly watch Dean fall asleep.

But _no, _Cas is eating a sparse dinner by lone candlelight in the barracks alone, and then he’s going to sleep alone, and tomorrow is probably going to be stupid and awful, too.

Cas is still irritated when he wakes, although he’s ready to patch things over. Worst case scenario, he lies and agrees to do what Dean wants him to, and then does what _he _wants to do should the situation ever come up. After all, there’s no current threat, and Cas is hoping they’re never in such dire straits that that choice must be made.

Although _some _people should recognize that it’s _Cas’s _choice to make.

In any case, Cas is prepared to be more reasonable than Dean and reconcile, but he doesn’t get the chance.

Because Dean doesn’t come to walk him to breakfast.

Cas feels a thousand times worse, suddenly, and tries to convince himself it’s anger and not hurt.

“Aw, Clarence,” Meg says, throwing an arm around him. “I’ll walk you. Make sure you don’t get lost.”

Cas is too upset to even respond, letting her leave her arm where it is and guide him to the Hall.

He expects to see Dean relaxing in his usual spot, already eating and intolerably smug in his self-righteousness, but Dean isn’t there.

“His rut hit yesterday,” Sam says when Cas approaches, still frowning at the empty chair.

“Oh.” Cas doesn’t know what to say to that. Mostly he feels — bad. Dean was wrong, undoubtedly, but it was apparently a bad time to play a prank on him. His poor reaction and much of the ensuing tantrum can be explained by the rut.

“Yeah,” Sam sighs. “It’s only a couple weeks early, but, um. It looks like it’s gonna be nasty. You probably won’t see him for a few days.”

Cas deflates. As angry as he was last night, and even this morning, he’d already resolved not to let the fight persist.

It looks like the choice is out of his hands.

Beside him, Charlie drops into the chair.

“Is he okay? I ran into Ellen on my way in, and she said she was going to see him.”

Sam hesitates.

“Um. Yeah, he’s — I think he’s fine.”

“You think?” Cas prompts, suddenly worried. “Doesn’t — doesn’t Ellen always check on him?”

Sam quickly nods.

“Yeah, of course, she always pops in on everybody, makes sure there aren’t any other issues,” he says, rubbing his neck.

Everyone stops what they’re doing to look at him.

“Wow,” Valencia says. “Way to reassure, Sam. My favorite part was where you didn’t even sound suspicious.”

Sam flushes.

“Maybe I just don’t wanna talk about Dean’s rut over breakfast.”

“I’m fine with it,” Charlie volunteers. “It means I can tell him we all talked about it when he comes back.”

“That seems rude,” observes Cas, and Charlie grins.

“Yup,” she agrees, like that’s the whole point.

Cas turns his attention back to Sam.

“He _is _okay, right?”

Sam clears his throat.

“Yeah. It’s just — it’s kind of like that one really bad one he had, except, um, he’s . . . having trouble getting, um, help.” He coughs. “But he’ll be okay. Don’t worry about it.”

That does reassure Cas, somewhat, because Dean ultimately survived his last rut, and Ellen’s visit must be part of the normal routine, because he’s reasonably certain it’s not part of her job to help people find cycle assistance. He tentatively understands that to be a thing people arrange amongst themselves.

However, it _is _worrisome that Dean isn’t able to find anyone to help him. Whatever he might do while he’s away, Dean obviously prefers to have help. Especially if it’s a particularly bad cycle.

“Is there really no one available?”

Sam blinks, and he and Charlie exchange a look.

“Something like that,” he finally says, and offers Cas a small smile. “Really, though. He’ll be fine. I’m gonna check on him again after training, and I’ll let you know how he’s doing.”

“I could come with you,” Cas volunteers, and for some reason all _three _of them look at each other.

“Um. You know how Ellen is.”

“Yes, sometimes she recommends not having visitors, but if he’s well enough to receive _you, _I don’t know why I wouldn’t be able to come, too.”

Sam’s smile is becoming increasingly strained.

“I’ll . . . ask her.”

Cas huffs.

“Do that,” he says, although he wonders if maybe he _shouldn’t _go with Sam.

In fact, Cas kind of wonders if maybe he should make a separate visit entirely.

“Heard you were having some trouble,” Ellen says, dropping her bag onto the comforter, and Dean shuffles uncomfortably on the bed, pulling the sheet further up and hoping anything happening under it isn’t obvious from the outside.

Just because _Ellen’s _a doctor doesn’t mean _he _is, and having a conversation like this is awkward as hell.

“You, uh, you could say that,” Dean mumbles, wrapping his arms around his knees.

She throws him a pitying look.

“You wanna elaborate, hon?”

Dean coughs, hunching his shoulders.

“I, um. It, uh, it won’t . . . go.”

Ellen cocks her head.

“So you’re in rut, but it ain’t coming up?”

Dean looks down.

“Uh, no. I mean, it’s, um, it’s up? But it won’t — I can’t -” Dean shrugs. “And I — I can’t — get help.”

**

She blinks.

“Nobody can get cycle leave?”

Dean shuts his eyes, taking a deep breath.

“That’s not it,” he grits out, frustrated. “I, uh. I’ve had a few visitors. But they can’t — they don’t — _I _can’t —”

Ellen holds up a hand, frowning.

“Alright — let me see if I understand. You’ve tried to get help, but it ain’t working.”

Dean gives a short nod.

“And when you try on your own?”

Dean shrugs.

“It’s better, but it’s still — uh. Difficult. Which — that’s messed up, right? It’s usually way better if someone’s there, but I — I asked _three different people, _Ellen! And I just — it wouldn’t _work._”

Ellen looks uneasy.

“Right. And . . . did you feel like there was a specific reason it wasn’t working? Or it just wasn’t?”

Dean hesitates.

“They, um. They didn’t smell right,” he mutters, and there’s a long silence.

“Uh-huh,” she finally says. “And were these . . . new people?”

Dean shakes his head.

“No, that’s what’s so _bizarre. _They’ve all helped me before, and usually they smell fine. They usually smell _good, _and vice versa, and — I mean, that’s why we _do_ it. But this time — they just — they smelled all wrong. Which is — what even causes that?”

Ellen is quiet for a moment, and then she shrugs.

“Could be a number of things.”

“Like _what_?” Dean demands, feeling vaguely hysterical. “And — can you fix it?”

She shrugs again.

**

“We’ll see.” She gives him a considering look. “This the first time you’ve had a problem like this?”

Dean hesitates.

“Yeah?”

Her eyes narrow.

“And why does that sound like a question?”

He shrugs, staring at the sheet, and she sighs.

“Would you say your last few ruts have been normal?”

_No._

“Dean,” she says sternly, and he makes a face.

“Not — not exactly.”

She looks at him for a moment, and then pinches his foot.

“Hey!” he yelps, and she shakes her head.

“You are twenty-five years old. Act like it.”

“Gimme a break,” he mumbles. “’S’embarrassing. And what if I’m broken?” he adds, looking down mournfully. “What if I can never have sex again?”

Her brows climb.

“You havin’ problems outside your rut?”

“What?! No!” He swallows. “No, no, I don’t . . . I just. Uh.”

Ellen sighs.

“Alright. Tell me about your last sexual encounter and your last few ruts. Go.”

Jesus Christ. Maybe he should have just suffered in silence.

“Which one first?” he asks, stalling, and she raises a brow.

“Up to you.”

**

“Okay. Uh. So, my — my last rut, I — well, it wasn’t _bad, _you know? Only lasted a few days, and the, uh. On my own, I did fine. It’s just — I tried to get Linus to come help me, but I couldn’t, uh. Stay up.”

Ellen nods, face impassive.

“And the one before that?”

“Honestly? Best rut I ever had. Two days, barely felt it, probably wouldn’t have asked for help even if I was home. I figured it was make up for how bad the one before it was.”

She nods again.

“And the one before that, you were syncin’ up with Cas.”

“Yeah.”

“But otherwise that one was normal?”

Dean hesitates.

“Uh. Carmen stayed with me a few days, but it . . . it was kinda weird? Like — like it couldn’t make up his mind. We definitely had to, uh, you know. Work harder for it.”

**

Ellen has the best poker face ever, which Dean would know even if she wasn’t his doctor, but still. It makes this slightly less mortifying.

“And your last sexual encounter? Last few, I guess.”

Dean averts his gaze, scratching the back of his neck.

“Um,” he starts. “Actually, I’ve, uh. I’ve been kind of busy.”

Ellen waits.

“And?” she finally says.

“It’s, uh. It’s been a while.”

“How long is a while?”

“Well, you know I don’t mess around with my soldiers when we’re away.”

“Probably a good policy,” she agrees. “But there are towns.”

“It was a tough war,” Dean mutters, and there’s a long pause.

“Oh.”

“And there weren’t _that_ many towns,” he blusters. “And I was _really _stressed. Purgaean soldiers were fucking everywhere, you couldn’t really relax or anything like that, hell, if I tried to pick someone up they’d probably end up trying to assassinate me—”

Ellen holds up a hand.

“You’re fine, Dean. That’s . . . real responsible of you.”

“Thank you,” he says, emphatic. “That’s what I thought.”

“But the war ended in December,” she continues, brow furrowed.

“Yeah, but then I had to go to the outposts,” he argues, carefully avoiding the fact that he visited some towns, too.

Ellen looks a little concerned.

“There’s a few months in between there.”

He just stares back at her, daring her with his eyes.

She’s unimpressed, though she still looks worried.

“So . . . you haven’t been with anyone in . . .”

“A while,” he finishes hastily, lest she try and actually calculate it.

He can tell by the look on her face that she does it anyway.

“Okay,” she says neutrally. “Is that — a lack of interest? Or are you worried some of your rut problems are gonna carry over?”

“Uh. I guess I — don’t really think about it.”

“I’m gonna go with both, then.”

Dean doesn’t deny it.

She sighs.

“Any reason you didn’t tell me you were havin’ problems?”

“Uh, because it’s embarrassing? Anyway, it was fine, before. I got through it, and I really was — busy, and stuff. It wasn’t a big deal.”

“But it is now.”

“Yeah, I’d say so.”

She nods, thinking, and if there’s anything more terrifying than your doctor needing a lengthy, contemplative silence before they diagnose you, Dean hasn’t run into it yet.

“Ellen,” he says eventually, and he swears he doesn’t sound hysterical. He _doesn’t._

“Right.” She clears her throat, and the apparent unease in her face is not helping _at all. _“Well. Honestly? Most likely thing, with all o’ your symptoms — you’ve got a bond with somebody.”

Dean stares.

“Awesome, except I’ve been keepin’ my damn teeth to myself, thank you, so what else?”

“Not a full bond,” she corrects him, tone careful in a way that instinctively raises his hackles. “A partial bond. Just like our bodies reject matings that aren’t really wanted, sometimes we accept bonds we didn’t attempt on purpose.”

He squints.

“What?”

“For instance,” she says. “If there’s somebody in your life you spend a lot of time with, and you’ve formed an emotional attachment to. Sometimes that can trigger a bond. Can you think of anybody like that?”

Honestly, Dean’s not really sure why Ellen is bothering to ask; if Dean had an unofficial girlfriend or boyfriend — like Sam and Valencia — pretty much everyone would know about it.

“No? Come on. You’d have heard something if I had anyone like that.”

Ellen gives him a long look.

“Yeah, I suppose I would. Some things are obvious.” She sighs. “Well, then it’s probably stress. Your cycle got out of sync, and then you wandered all over the continent for a year before it could settle down properly, and then you left again after you were only home for a few months. That much travel, that far and that long — that’ll do it.”

“Oh.” Dean blinks. “Wait, so . . . I’m gonna be okay?”

She gives him a firm pat on the leg.

“You’re gonna be fine. You’re not gonna be enjoying yourself anytime soon, but you’ll be fine.”

Like, this all still sucks, but it’s a relief. Dean hardly slept last night, terrified he’d fucked his body up somehow and it would never work right again.

“Okay. Okay, awesome. Thanks, Ellen.”

There’s another long, pitying look, but Dean’s cool with it.

“So, uh. What should I do? In the meantime?”

“Well, you look like you could use a nap, so I’ll make you some tea, and otherwise . . . sit tight, I guess. Remember you’re gonna be fine, and — well, cross your fingers it blows over soon.”

“Okay.” Dean takes a deep breath. It’s gonna suck, but — “I can do that.”

Ellen fixes him some sleepy-time tea, which Dean gulps down gratefully, and before she leaves, she gives him one last instruction.

“And Dean? I know it ain’t fun, but I don’t recommend visitors, this time around.”

“Well, obviously. No point.”

She shakes her head.

“Of any kind. That means Sam. And Cas. Just to be safe.”

Dean frowns, although Cas never visits him, anyway.

“What am I going to _do_?”

“Read a book,” she offers, and then shuts the door behind her.

Son of a bitch.

Well — maybe it’ll be as short as it is awful.

A guy can dream, he thinks, and promptly does just that, fast asleep within minutes of her departure.

“Meg, may I ask you something?”

Cas lingers in the armory when they’re changing out their weapons for their post-lunch exercises, and he does his best to distract Meg with idle conversation so she lingers, too.

He waits for everyone else to leave for lunch before he asks his question, and to her credit, Meg doesn’t look surprised.

“I thought so,” she says smugly. “What’s up, angel?”

He hesitates.

“You, uh. You have ruts, right?”

Meg raises her brows.

“I sure do,” she says slowly. He nods.

“And . . . have you ever had someone help you?”

Meg’s mouth falls open a little, and then she smirks.

“Keep talkin’ like that, Clarence, and you’re gonna get a girl’s hopes up.”

“What?”

She sighs.

“Nothing. Anyway, of course I have. Doing it alone sucks. Why do you ask?”

Cas shifts.

“I see. I was, uh. I was wondering if you could tell me—” He clears his throat. This shouldn’t be awkward, but it is. He would have asked Sam, but he was afraid Sam might try to discourage him. “Ellen explained to me how it — how it _works, _generally, but I don’t know . . . how do I help someone? In rut?”

Meg stares.

And then she turns and starts walking out of the armory.

“Wait — Meg —”

“I am going to answer your questions, because I’m worried about you, but I’m doing it where there are witnesses.”

“Witnesses?” he echoes, trailing after her as she stalks to the field.

“Yup. You’re a good friend, but not that good.”

“But — Meg — I’d like to have this conversation privately, if possible—”

“And we will. We’ll just do it where everybody can see both us and all our hands so nobody walks in at an inopportune moment and thinks I’m teaching you this shit the good old fashioned way so I _don’t get executed. _Okay?” she finishes pleasantly, and Cas frowns.

“I don’t understand.”

“You wouldn’t, would you?” she mutters, and then guides him over to a tree some distance from the others. Valencia cocks her head, giving Cas a curious look, but he returns it with a slight shake of his head and she nods.

“Okay, Clarence. Run this by me again. You wanna know about alphas in rut?”

“How to help,” he clarifies. “I know they — well, it’s a lot like a heat.”

“Right.” Meg blows out a breath, a wavy little curl fluttering against the pressure before settling back beside her cheek. “Hoo boy. ‘Dean and I don’t have sex,’ my ass.”

“We don’t,” Cas points out, and then pauses. “Does it count if you’re just helping during a cycle?”

Meg chokes.

“Does it _count_ — yes, of _course _it counts, Clarence! And I am the _queen _of ‘it doesn’t count if’ loopholes.”

“Oh. Okay.”

Cas considers this for a moment. He’s been fighting with himself all day, torn between wanting to help Dean, since no one else will, and still being wary of what that entails.

Part of him thinks it’s like the courtyard kiss — an opportunity to experiment born of unrelated necessity. Because even if Cas doesn’t like it, he’s not doing it because he _wants _Dean, he’s doing it because Dean needs help and apparently no one else is giving it to him; so perhaps he can use it as an opportunity to . . . try it, sort of, and use that to aid his decision. After all, Cas isn’t in heat right now. He’ll have a completely clear head with which to evaluate — _whatever _happens, and maybe, like with the kiss, it will help him decide if he wouldn’t mind more of that thing. Those things.

Cas isn’t really sure what to expect, hence why he’s asking Meg.

“So . . .” he lifts his shoulders. “What, um. What does an alpha usually . . . expect?”

Meg looks him over, calculating, and Cas resists the temptation to cross his arms.

“Specifically in a rut?”

“Yes. I don’t anticipate doing this outside of that,” he adds, possibly lying, and then confides, “Dean’s never asked me, nor would I usually offer, but he can’t find anyone else to help him.”

Meg’s face twitches.

“Really,” she says, and there’s something odd about her tone. “Prince Dean of the fairytale green eyes and notoriously delicious ass can’t find a single soul in this enormous castle to help him? He told you that, did he?”

Cas frowns.

“No, he told Sam that, and I don’t think you’re using that word correctly, Meg.”

Meg arches a brow.

“Which one?”

“’Delicious’. That describes taste. You can’t taste someone’s ass.”

Meg freezes.

“Are you — is that — did you just make a joke?”

Cas squints.

“No?”

She swallows.

“Mm. Right. Yeah.” She turns to the side for a moment, coughing into her hand. “What were we talking about, again?”

“Your word misuse or before that?”

“First of all, sometimes we use delicious to describe things that are _super _appealing, whether you can taste them or not. Second of all —” she pauses. “Actually, never mind, Clarence. Another day.”

Cas purses his lips.

“How is an — ass — extremely appealing? It’s just — well, it’s a butt, Meg.”

“Really? You’ve _never _looked at Dean’s ass and thought it was nice?”

Cas blinks, images of Dean’s pants-clad posterior flickering through his brain.

“Well, he — uh. Dean has a — a capable build.” He feels itchy, suddenly. “It’s certainly . . . impressive, I suppose.”

“You fuckin’ liar,” she sneers, and then flops back against the tree. “Anyway, I don’t know about the rest of the time, but it’s not _Dean’s_ ass you need to worry about if he’s in rut.”

Cas stares blankly, and she sighs.

“Are you sure you’re old enough for this?” she snarks, and Cas flushes.

“If you would just stop speaking in _riddles_—_”_ he starts, irate, and she waves a hand.

“Oh, untwist your knickers, Clarence. And stop trying so hard to take me literally.”

“I’m not trying—” he protests, and she rolls her eyes.

“Oh, yes you are. I can literally smell how nervous you are.”

Cas deflates, sniffing at his shoulder.

“Really?”

“Yeah. I’m pretty sure you can figure out the answer to your question on your own, but I think it makes you feel better to talk to someone.”

Cas looks down.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, and she slings an arm around his shoulder.

“Don’t sweat it. It all seems weird as hell and just as gross, until you do it.”

He gives her a baleful look.

“You have to do it to be okay with it?”

She looks amused.

“Well, I guess it depends on the person, but trust me, it doesn’t take long to come around. And _boy, _is it worth doing. Well, for most people. But if you’re not into it, don’t worry. That’s normal, too.” She smirks. “Although, the way you look at him — I’d bet money you will be.”

Why is Meg so _embarrassing _sometimes?

“I don’t know,” he grumbles. “I’m still — I’m trying to figure it out. For now, though, Dean needs me, and I just — I want to make sure I do it right.” _And that I know what I’m getting into._

She shrugs.

“Honestly? When you’re in rut, you mostly just want a place to stick it. Preferably a place attached to someone that smells nice, won’t judge you, and you’re not gonna get sick of talking to.”

Cas feels a small lurch in his stomach.

“Stick it,” he repeats, uneasy. “As in . . .”

“Your knot,” Meg clarifies, watching him with amused eyes.

“Oh.”

Cas swallows. He was afraid of this.

“So just — um. Touching. Isn’t — it won’t be adequate.”

“Well, it’s better than nothing,” Meg concedes.

“But he’ll probably expect to, uh.” Cas struggles to get the word out. He doesn’t usually have trouble talking about these things — they’re medical, after all — but any time he’s talking about _himself, _it’s suddenly _incredibly _embarrassing. “Penetrate me,” he finally mumbles, and Meg barks out a startled laugh.

“Sure, that’s one way to put it. Except maybe don’t.” Meg’s smile fades a little and she cocks her head, curious and concerned. “Why the long face, angel? It’s not gonna be that different than whatever you do during _your _cycle. Just, you know. Attached to a person.”

Cas winces.

“Meg, I don’t, um. I don’t — that’s not . . .”

Meg’s jaw drops.

“You don’t — are you _kidding _me? How do you _survive_? I’m an _alpha _and I will cut a bitch before giving up my—”

“It’s fine,” he hisses, cheeks burning. “I don’t need to. I don’t think it would work, anyway.”

Meg makes a weird face.

“What does that even _mean, _Clarence?”

“Shut up,” he snaps, even though he knows he’s being rude. He _is _the one who asked her these questions in the first place; as difficult as she seems determined to be, she _has_ also answered him.

Certainly, she’s confirmed what Cas feared: Dean will expect more in the way of help than Cas would, were he the one in cycle.

And Cas . . . Cas wants to help Dean, desperately, but — is he willing to do _that_?

Meg pokes his forehead.

“You’re gonna hurt yourself.”

“I’m fine,” he mumbles, wrapping his arms around his knees.

She pats the top of one of them.

“Hey. Dean’s a big boy. If you don’t wanna do it, don’t. Really. He’ll be fine, I promise.”

Cas nods. He appreciates that, but it doesn’t change the fact that he wants to help.

“Thank you for answering my questions,” he says, and Meg shrugs.

“Sure. Any time.”

Cas gets the impression that she has some questions of her own, but thankfully, she doesn’t ask.

Instead, she leaves him to his thoughts for the rest of lunch, and by the time they’re done, he still isn’t sure what to do.

Cas opts not to train in the courtyard with Sam and Valencia, citing Dean’s absence and his own desire to finish a book. Sam offers to come read with him, but Cas hastily assures him it’s fine.

After all, he’s not going to read a book. He’s going to take a bath.

Cas has deduced, after years of observation, that people go to the baths during non-bathing hours for _privacy. _He has more recently deduced that _privacy _frequently means bedroom things. Some lighthearted teasing in the barracks tells him this is also a popular place to take care of erections without being afraid your bunkmate will catch you.

(As much empathy as Cas has for the more determined variety of erections, now that his heats are as bad as they are, he strongly feels that the best solution for not being caught by your bunkmate is to _not do that in your bunk._)

Cas is legitimately going to take a bath, because even if Dean wouldn’t really send him away for not being freshly bathed, Cas, for once, is the one who doesn’t feel comfortable crawling into Dean’s bed without being as clean as he get. If he goes through with this — well. They’ll be much closer than they would if they were just sleeping, won’t they?

And Meg said alphas want someone nice-smelling. The idea of Dean complaining about how he smells while Cas is trying to help him with — with _things — _is -

Cas sinks into the hot water, somehow upset even though nothing’s even happened.

He had better scrub _thoroughly._

Once Cas has gone over himself with the soaphy washcloth three times and washed his hair twice, he lingers in the cooling water, not quite ready to leave the peaceful silence of the bathhouse. There’s no way he could think about all these things in the courtyard, or at dinner, surrounded by people and conversation.

No. Cas needs privacy, for once, if only so he can _focus._

If he’s being honest with himself, he doesn’t really want to. Touching Dean the way he touches himself during his own cycle is one thing; doing anything else is — well, it’s _terrifying. _Cas still can’t stand the sight of the cloth bag, ominous and daunting where it always sits on the nightstand, and yet now he’s wishing he’d had the fortitude to attempt it.

At least he would _know. _If he could just be sure it was possible, and it wouldn’t hurt, then even if he didn’t _like _it, he could do it for Dean. It’s _Dean, _after all. And unlike Cas, he’s used to having help.

Cas hates the idea of him suffering in his room alone, and he feels a surge of anger at the people who have failed to be there for him this time.

But when he tries to think how much better it would be if they _were _helping him, if he didn’t have to make this decision at all, he feels angry at that idea, too.

Why on earth are sex things so _complicated_?

It’s so _frustrating. _Cas wants to help, thinks he’s worked himself up to the point that, if all it called for were the same things he dealt with during his heat, Cas would be on his way upstairs right now.

He’d still be shaking with nerves, of course, but he’d be on his way.

But this. This is — it’s a lot. Cas isn’t sure he can do it. And he sincerely doubts Dean is expecting him, but if he were to make it upstairs and try, only to back out at the last minute —

Cas isn’t sure he can face Dean’s disappointment. Surely, it’s better not to go at all than to promise him relief only to lose his nerve before he can provide it?

On the other hand — what if he _can_? What if he could do this for Dean? Cas doesn’t have to _like_ it. It’s not for him, after all. It just has to be endurable.

And if it is, then he wants to do this for Dean.

Cas drops his mouth below the waterline, tiredly blowing bubbles. He doesn’t think his heart has stopped pounding since he left the training field, knowing the decision he had to make. He wishes, desperately, that he knew one way or the other if this was something he could do.

But then, he thinks, this is Dean, isn’t it? Dean, who doesn’t enforce the honeycake rule, who dries Cas’s hair for him after his bath, who bought him a feather stone and never hurts him during training, not even accidentally, though they were originally so unevenly matched.

Dean, who foolishly put himself between Cas and the perceived danger of the flaming candelabra.

Who might criticize what Cas _does,_ depending on his own judgments, but has never once criticized him for something he _didn’t _do.

(Well, besides bathing, and even then, Dean’s let him sleep in his bed anyway, before).

Cas realizes, then, that one thing he can be sure of is that Dean would never, ever hurt him. That Dean is _careful; _that he will always pay enough attention to make _sure _he doesn’t hurt Cas.

That if Cas does go up there, Dean _isn’t_ going to do anything that will hurt Cas.

And if it _doesn’t _hurt — then Cas can do it, for Dean’s sake.

And if it turns out Cas isn’t capable? Then Dean will stop, and even if his disappointment stings, it won’t change how he feels about Cas, or how he treats him.

Cas gets out of the tub, dries off and dresses, and by the time he starts making his way to the castle, he feels calmer than he has all day.

He can at least try, he’s decided. And now that he _has _decided —

He’s ready.

There’s no answer when he knocks on Dean’s door.

Cas hovers uncertainly in the hallway, trying not to let the scent distract him. It’s faint, but distinctly _Dean, _although there’s a strange, rich quality to it that Cas is certain isn’t usually there, though it’s — it’s very nice.

He supposes he would be fine to wait out here, although he’s a little afraid someone like Sam will come by and make Cas leave, but he _did _knock, and he knows Dean doesn’t have a guest right now, so he can only conclude that Dean is sleeping.

In which case — it’s probably fine to wait inside, isn’t it?

That decided, Cas quietly presses the latch, silently slipping into the room and carefully shutting the door behind him.

He ends up leaning back against it for support, knees suddenly faltering in their task. The hallway is _nothing _compared to how Dean’s room smells. It takes Cas a long moment to gather his bearings, and he props himself against the door, blinking into the darkness and taking in deep breaths.

Because — _wow. _Cas has never smelled anything so nice in his life. His head feels a little dizzy with it; it’s like walking into the kitchen when everyone there is baking, except it doesn’t smell like food, and it’s not really making Cas hungry.

Mostly it just makes Cas feel really _good. _Warm, and happy, and — and excited, almost.

He’s not sure how long it is before he straightens up, carefully approaching the bed where Dean is sleeping.

What is he supposed to do now?

Obviously, he has to wait for Dean to wake up. Sleep is precious during a cycle, and Cas might be tempted to violence if someone had ever woken him once he’d managed it.

But where does he wait?

He considers the little table and chairs, the great big armchair by the fireplace, but they all seem rather far away from Dean. Rationally, he knows he doesn’t need to be close until Dean is awake and ready for Cas’s assistance, but still.

After a moment’s hesitation, Cas rounds the bed, gingerly lifting the blanket and sliding into his usual spot. The moment he’s there, he knows he’s made the right decision. The bed is warm and soft and comfortable and Dean’s scent is especially potent here, which would be nice on it’s own, but is _especially _gratifying, given how spectacular he smells today.

Cas thinks of that time Sam came to read after visiting Dean, and wonders if Dean _always _smells this good when he’s in rut.

It’s peculiar and wonderful, but then, many things about Dean are.

He makes himself comfortable, quietly fluffing his pillow and turning on his side, content to watch Dean in the fading daylight. He’s faced away from Cas, which is disappointing, but after a few minutes his shoulders twitch, and then he’s turning over, breathing in soft little huffs as he curls toward the center of the bed.

Cas keeps still, pleased by the change. Watching Dean sleep is strangely comforting, but for whatever reason, it’s more satisfying if Cas can see his face. That makes sense, though; Cas is _extremely _fond of Dean’s face. Part of him thinks it’s a shame Dean can’t sleep with his eyes open, but the other part of him is pretty sure that would just be alarming.

And then, as if bidden by Cas’s thoughts, Dean’s eyes open.

“Hello, Dean,” Cas whispers, smiling a little. Dean blinks sleepily at him and starts to smile back.

And then suddenly he’s frowning, lurching upright.

“Uh. Cas? Why are you — what are you doing here?”

Cas hesitates. He would have thought it was obvious.

“I’m here to help you with your rut,” he says, sitting up, and Dean blanches.

“_What_?”

He seems alert now, which Cas supposes is good, although he likes the way Dean is when he’s still tired and sleep-soft.

“Sam said you weren’t able to get anyone to help you. So I thought—”

“No, no, no, that’s not — you misunderstood, Cas, I have plenty of people who would help me, it’s just — there’s a different problem.”

Oh. That’s . . . Cas feels embarrassed, suddenly.

But still — if there’s a problem, then Cas is determined to help, especially if others can’t.

“Then I’ll help you with that,” he insists, tentatively scooting closer. He’s not sure how to start the — the helping, but he knows they’re not close enough, right now.

Dean jerks back.

“Cas, you need to leave,” he says bluntly, and Cas feels something cold settle inside his chest.

“I already excused myself from dinner,” he says quickly, gaze darting between Dean and the empty space between them. “I don’t have anywhere else to be—”

“That’s not what I _mean,_” Dean hisses, and he looks vaguely frantic. “I — you can’t be here when I’m like this, and you _definitely _can’t help me, so just — just go!”

Cas bites his lip, at a loss.

“Are you sure? I — I don’t know what the problem is, but we could try. I mean, we can try, um, all of the things,” he adds, in case Dean is misunderstanding some limitations on the offer.

Dean swallows.

“Please _leave,_” he grits out, fingers curling around the edge of the blanket.

Cas winces at the force in his tone.

“I want to help you,” he insists. “You prefer to have someone assist you, don’t you? I can do that, Dean—”

Dean shakes his head vigorously.

“Cas,” he says, and the word sounds strained. “You really can’t. Now — _please — _go.”

“Why not?” Cas demands, although he’s a little surprised by his own determination to stay. “You won’t even tell me what you need. How do you know I can’t help you?”

“Because I don’t _want _you to,” Dean snaps, and Cas’s chest goes tight.

It takes him a moment to respond.

“You’d rather do it alone than have me help you,” Cas states, numbly thinking of Meg’s list. _Someone that smells nice, won’t judge you, and you won’t go sick of talking to._

“_Yes. _So for God’s sake, get _out._”

Cas swallows.

“Is it how I smell? Do I smell bad to you?” he asks, and Dean gets a strange look on his face, sniffing the air in what almost looks like an involuntary motion.

He shudders.

“Cas. This — this isn’t cool. If someone asks you to leave, you leave.”

And Cas knows he’s right, but Dean is being confusing and evasive and all Cas wants to do is —

“Please let me help you,” he says quietly, and Dean lets out a frustrated noise, suddenly lunging forward and shoving Cas back onto the bed.

Cas doesn’t even try to resist, mostly just startled.

And then Dean presses down, weight settling heavy on top of him, and grips Cas’s arms.

“Do you know what you’re talking about, Cas?” he hisses. “Do you _really _know what you’re getting into, here? What it means to help an alpha through a rut?”

Cas swallows. This is — this isn’t like what happens at practice. It should be, but it’s different. The bed is soft, providing give where Dean presses into him, and Dean isn’t laughing or smiling, like he usually is. He looks — furious, and perhaps it’s the last dull glow of sunlight, but there’s something almost feral glinting in his eyes.

Cas licks his lips, mouth suddenly dry, and Dean flinches a little.

And that — that’s probably the biggest difference between this and training. Now is Cas’s chance, the opportunity he’d normally take to shove Dean off and get free —

But he doesn’t.

He doesn’t _want _to.

“Yes,” he whispers, and Dean sucks in a breath. “I do.”

Dean’s grip on his arms tightens.

“No. I don’t think you do. Not really, Cas. If you did, you wouldn’t be here.”

Cas takes a deep breath, fascinated anew by Dean’s freckles, his lashes, the way his face looks, so very close to Cas’s.

Even his mouth, grim and angry, is stealing Cas’s breath.

“Then show me,” he manages, and Dean freezes, eyes wide.

And then he’s cursing and rolling away, and Cas barely has time to register the sudden absence of warm weight at his front before Dean’s arm hooks around his waist, tugging him out of the bed.

“Wait — Dean—”

Dean doesn’t even pause, just hoists Cas over his shoulder, heedless of his shocked protests and kicking feet, and staggers to the door.

And then he opens it, dumping Cas on the floor outside, and slams it shut less than a second later.

After a beat of stunned silence, Cas hears the deadbolt slide into place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * SPOILERS *
> 
> Scene 1: A barmaid is throwing interested looks Dean's way, and Dean maintains to himself that the reason he doesn't take her up on it is because it would take most of the night, and Dean is too responsible to forgo the sleep.
> 
> Scene 2: After Jody excuses herself, Dean and Pam flirt, though in a more joking fashion. Dean points out he can’t do anything that night, since Cas will be sleeping in his room, and she teases him a little about that, to his confusion; she tells him she is just teasing, and cryptically says she knows it isn’t time yet.
> 
> Scene 3/4: In, the first starred part of his and Ellen's conversation, Dean indicates that he tried to have a few different people help him, but none of them smelled right; Ellen asks if they were new people, and he explains they're all people who have helped him before, but this time was different and he couldn't. The second starred part contains references to Dean having sought Linus and Carmen’s help with his rut in the past, as well as the problems he experienced when he did so (difficulty/inability maintaining an erection), but I thought I’d mark it just in case.


	9. Part IX

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: reference to past Dean/other, allusion to potential non-con, see end notes for details.
> 
> *5'10" = 177.8 cm for those using the metric system.

Dean is fucking _livid._

What the ever-living fuck was Cas thinking? Where was this _coming _from? If he thought things were weird yesterday, they had _nothing_ on today’s batshit shenanigans.

The moment this stupid rut is done, Dean swears to God he’s going to have a long, serious talk with the kid, one which will probably be pointless because sometimes Cas is the most thick-skulled person Dean’s ever met, and then he’s telling Layla not to even _make _honeycakes for the next three weeks in hopes that _that _at least will get his point across.

Dean’s not even sure who he’s most pissed at (Cas, it’s definitely Cas); to start with, Sam should have kept his damn mouth shut, because the last thing Dean wants the kid worrying about is Dean’s _ruts __—_ and Sam should know Cas well enough by this point to know that if Cas thinks there’s a problem, he gets it in his head to fix it, and literally _nobody _is going to like the solution.

God, Cas is _so fucking lucky _he’s married to Dean. Even if Michael had sold him off to someone who would have at least respected his childishness the first few years, he doesn’t kid himself that some other asshole in this situation wouldn’t have taken Cas’s ‘Yes’ and run with it like it counted as any kind of proper consent.

Dean snorts, burying his face in his pillow and trying to ignore the incredibly awkward boner he woke up with, because he still feels way too angry _— _and _weird __— _about what just happened to even try taking care of it. _Yes, I do, _his ass. This is the same stupid kid who wandered guilelessly into his wedding chamber expecting Dean to fight him; Cas is one bold son of a bitch, Dean will give him that, and that is precisely why Dean’s terrified he’ll get himself killed one day.

Because he _does_ things like blatantly making up traditions and kissing other people just so he can steal a stupid peck from Sam. He does things like sitting outside the castle gate in the middle of the war and stabbing someone twice his size when they try to abduct him.

He _does _things like sneaking into the bed of an alpha in rut, claiming he knows what that means and he’s ready to do that _—_ which is just _laughable __—_ and there but for the grace of Dean did he leave here unscathed and untraumatized.

Scowling, Dean thinks of the opportunistic hope, plain on Walt and Roy’s faces when Cas started down the kissing line, and his irritation with Cas grows. Anybody else _—_ anybody who didn’t know Cas as well as Dean does _—_ would have just gone for it, and _then _where would Cas be?

Thank-fucking-God he’s married to Dean. Cas has basically said so himself, before, but _seriously. _He has _no idea._

Dean rolls over, still fuming and a little uncomfortable with the friction happening as he restlessly shifts around the sheets. It’s embarrassing as fuck to think Cas might have picked up on that, but the ass was point-blank refusing to leave and Dean couldn’t think of any other way to get him out than to try scaring him.

Of course, this _is _Cas, and instead of being scared into running, like he _should_ have been when Dean pinned him to the bed, he had the nerve to act like he was ready to go through with it.

Which is the real proof he didn’t understand the situation he was trying so hard to get himself into; if Cas had any idea what helping Dean through a rut meant _—_ what it actually entailed _—_ there’s no way in hell he could have looked Dean in the eye and told him to show him.

And even if he did, there’s no way in hell Dean would have gone for it. That’s just _—_ it’s just _—_ it’s gross and creepy and Dean feels like fifty different kind of filth right now, even though rationally he knows it’s not his fault.

Because you know whose fault it _really _is?

_Ellen’s._

_ I don’t recommend visitors, _she told him, and now that he knows what a fucking understatement that is, he kind of wants to march out of his room, boner be damned, and give her an earful because what the hell kind of doctor doesn’t communicate important shit like _oh, by the way, if somebody close to you comes in, you’re gonna have some really funny feelings._

Which is the worst part about all of this; the real reason he’s so angry at Cas.

Dean woke up, that telltale hot, jittery feeling coursing through him, and thought his room smelled fucking _amazing. _Half-asleep and scent-drunk and more than a little desperate from all his stupid issues, his dumbass body started reacting before his brain could figure out what was going on and hit the brakes.

And even once it _did _know what was going on, Cas refused to leave, perching there like some kind of delicious-smelling scent bomb from hell, and all kinds of strange shit started happening with Dean’s instincts (not that he’s ever going to think about it again, thanks).

Obviously, Dean’s body is having some fucked up issues with scent right now, and since Cas is basically family, his is familiar enough not to be off-putting the same way other people’s were. Unfortunately, the nature of his shitty travel condition apparently means his hormones take ‘oh, hi, family-person, you don’t smell terrible’ and turn it into ‘let’s throw down right now.’

As furious (and mortified) as Dean is, he’s still glad it was Cas and not Sam. Dean doesn’t even want to know how he’d feel right now if his little _brother_ had somehow given him a boner.

Which brings him back to his main point: _what was Ellen thinking_? If she’d just warned him that whatever’s going on with his cycle meant he had to worry about getting stiff for family, he would have bolted the damn door and shoved a fucking dresser in front of it to start with.

At least he knows better for next time, although to be honest, he expects things to have settled down by then. Even if they haven’t, after the lecture that’s coming Cas’s way as soon as Dean’s rut is over _—_ Dean doubts it’ll ever be a problem again.

That fucking _brat,_ he thinks, sour. Again _—_ he is _so _lucky he ended up with Dean.

Dean’s rut lasts three more days, and only towards the end does he stop feeling like he’s going to die. The only way it’s better than the hell-rut from when he and Cas were syncing up is because it’s two days shorter. That’s it. The rest of it is constant irritation, nausea and headaches; a general, frantic sense of dissatisfaction; and _—_ when he’s _lucky __—_ a series of painfully mediocre orgasms, eked out by sheer persistence and determination.

Up to this point, Dean’s always thought of his rut as a nuisance at worst, and an excuse to have a sex marathon at best. Now, he’s legitimately _terrified _of the next one, even if it should be months away.

He’s not sure he has it in him to do another one like this.

He’s right on his way to visit Ellen and make sure he doesn’t have to when one of John’s personal servants stops him.

“Your highness. You look well.”

“Uh. Yeah. First day back. I’m just on my way to_—_”

“If you’re up and about, the King has been wanting to speak with you.”

Son of a _bitch. _What now?

“Ah. Okay. Uh, lead the way.”

John’s in the council room, and after making Dean wait about fifteen minutes while he concludes some paperwork or other, he dismisses all the servants, leaving them alone.

“Sit, son,” he commands, jerking his head to the chair next to him. Really not liking the atmosphere, Dean complies, dropping into the seat with stiff shoulders.

“You wanted to talk to me, sir?”

“Don’t want to, but apparently I have to.” John sits back, fixing him with a tired, unhappy look. “The King of Eden visited for the fifth year celebration. He wasn’t happy you weren’t here.”

Which was one-hundred-percent not at all Dean’s fault.

“I’m sorry,” he manages.

“You’re lucky you missed it,” John snorts. “Waste of time, all of it, but it is what it is.”

Dean says nothing, assuming John didn’t call him in here to bitch about dumb festivities.

His Dad wouldn’t know a good time if it bit him on the ass, Dean thinks, not that a good time would bother. As much as his Dad has had to say about Eden’s king, in his own way, he’s just as bad.

“Look,” he finally says. “I’ll be blunt. I get the occasional letter from him about it, and it’s easy enough to brush him off, but he pushed the issue while he was here, and honestly? I don’t blame him. It’s time, Dean.”

Dean stares, insides cold.

“Time for what?” he says slowly, and John narrows his eyes.

“The boy’s nineteen.”

“Not yet he’s not,” Dean retorts, and gets an eyeroll for his troubles.

“Less than a month. I’ve been lenient, son, on account of the fact that we’ve got a much better guarantee than Michael does, but this is starting to get ridiculous.”

“He’s a _child,_” Dean sputters, not quite able to believe this is happening, and his Dad gives him an impatient look.

“The only child here is _you. _He’s a fine-looking young man, I’ve heard talk and seen him around enough myself.”

“But I don’t_—_” Dean starts, because he can worry about who’s looking and talking later.

“You think this is about you? I don’t care if he’s too young for your tastes, Dean. I’m not askin’ you to mate him. Just spend a heat or two with him and as soon as it takes, you can forget all about it. You’re an adult, son. Act like it.”

Dean gives him an appalled look.

“That’s exactly why I’m _telling _you, it’s too soon. I _am _an adult. And I _know _Cas. He’s not even close to ready.”

“Maybe he would be if you didn’t _coddle _him. You think I’m too busy keeping the kingdom running to notice how soft you are on him? If the boy’s still a child, it’s your own damn fault for treating him like one, and it’s up to you to deal with the consequences. Besides, he’ll be fine. Soon as you have an heir, he can pass it off to the nursery and go back to playing swords. And if it’s that important to you, you can wait on the second one.”

Dean feels like he’s going to throw up; it’s all he can do not to flip the damn table and punch his Dad in the face.

“He’s not _playing, _Dad. Ask Bobby; Cas is shaping up to be one of the best knights in the army. A few more years and he’ll be as good as me. Doing this now _—_ you couldn’t time it worse.”

“There are a lot of fine knights in the army, Dean, and we already have you,” his father says tiredly. “Castiel isn’t here to be a knight. He’s here to give you heirs and make sure Eden doesn’t make like the stick up _their_ ass and crawl up ours. That’s all. Once you do that, I don’t give a fuck, but until then _—_ do your damn duty. And do it soon.”

“I _—_ no. All due respect, sir, but _no. _He’s not ready, and I’m not going to force him.”

But John is already turning back to his papers, waving his hand.

“He is, and if you have to, you will. I expect news by the years’ end. You’re dismissed.”

Dean stands, clenching his fists as he watches his father calmly scribble across the parchment. Last night’s stunt made it clearer than ever that Cas still doesn’t understand adult things; he’s nowhere even remotely near ready to have kids.

Besides, Dean _promised _him that wouldn’t happen for a long time, and even if he hadn’t, he wouldn’t do that. Not to Cas.

“We didn’t,” he announces, before he can talk himself out of it.

John pauses.

“I said you were dismissed.”

“On our wedding night. I didn’t do it.”

Finally, John looks up, setting the pen down. There’s a warning in his gaze, one Dean would normally heed, but if there’s anything worth fighting his Dad over, this is it.

“What do you mean by it, son?”

“I mean that this marriage was and still remains unconsummated.”

John is silent for a long moment, rage slowly trickling into his expression.

“You’re aware you’ve committed treason,” he says, and Dean nods.

“I have. I’d do it again.”

“Like hell,” he barks. “Change of plans. You go and find your damn husband and do what you were supposed to five years ago. Right this fucking minute. And then, if you’re lucky, we never talk about this again.”

Dean takes a deep breath.

“No. Not gonna happen. What is going to happen, is you tell Michael that you value the treaty and the relationship our countries share, which is so nice that after five years without an heir to bind us, we’re on better terms than ever. You tell him how much you appreciate that. And then you tell him, in no uncertain terms, that that relationship is going to have to continue surviving without an heir, because it’s a long way off.”

“You think being prince makes you invincible, Dean? You think you can stand there and threaten your _king, _and there won’t be consequences?”

“What are you going to do? Kill me?” Part of Dean wonders if maybe he shouldn’t be giving his Dad idea, but oh, well. “You sure as hell won’t be having any heirs then.”

“Killing might just be nicer than what I can do to you.”

“Then do it. I don’t care. But know that if you try and force the issue, I will write Michael myself and tell him the truth.”

“Really. You’d fuck over your whole country just because you’re too squeamish to take your own goddamn husband to bed?”

Dean ignores that. After all, John was part and parcel to the deal where Michael sold a little kid, and Dean doesn’t kid himself that his Dad’s agreement was based on his faith in Dean’s character at all.

No, his Dad doesn’t understand, and there’s no point trying to explain it to him.

“If that’s how you want to see it, that’s fine. I don’t care. But Cas’ll have kids when he damn well wants to and not a moment sooner, and I will tell the truth and _divorce_ him if I have to in order to keep that promise.”

John shoves his chair back, standing.

“How _dare _you,” he roars, but Dean holds his ground. “Do you _hear _yourself? Should I have had you spend more time in the fucking schoolroom? Are you too fucking stupid to understand what kind of trouble you could cause?”

“I don’t know, are you?” he shoots back. “Things are _fine_! Michael can get as cranky as he wants, but the fact is, our armies have fought together, trade is good, and as long as Cas is married to me, the promise of heirs is there. He has nothing to retaliate against. Just let Cas be, and everything will go on as it has been. Push it? Guy like Michael’s never gonna let that kind of lie rest.”

John considers him for a long, terrifying moment, during which Dean’s not entirely confident he won’t get a dagger or two to the chest. He’s pretty sure he sees his Dad’s hands twitch, right next to the holster on his thigh, and Dean holds his breath.

Hopefully, if he gets himself killed, Cas’ll forgive him. At the very least, he’s pretty sure Sam will make sure he’s taken care of, even if he has to smuggle him out of the castle to some haven to do it.

But John just jerks his head toward the door.

“Get out.”

Dean hesitates, not sure if that’s an agreement or not. He’s mostly confident Ellen will go to the gallows before she helps John drug them and lock them in a room together, but that doesn’t mean he can’t find someone else to do it.

“And Dean?” he adds, giving Dean a hard stare. “You damn well better pray this doesn’t come back to bite us all in the ass.”

Honestly? Dean’s not entirely sure it won’t _—_ but for now, he’s alive and it looks like his Dad’s going to let it rest for now, and that _—_ well, that’ll have to be good enough.

The servant who brought him there is waiting outside the door when he leaves, and though Dean initially passes him, he turns back around.

“Did Michael talk to Cas while he was here?”

The servant hesitates.

“He’s not gonna care if you tell me,” Dean says impatiently. “Did he?”

“The King of Eden did request a private audience with his brother,” the man says cautiously, and Dean’s stomach sinks.

Yeah, that’s what he thought.

Cas has no idea when Dean’s rut will be over, but he hopes it’s soon.

He’s felt sick for _days._

After literally being thrown out of Dean’s room, Cas was certainly not brave enough to try visiting again, and even if he were, he doubts it would have been well-received.

No, Dean made it entirely clear that he would rather suffer all by himself than have to put up with Cas.

Cas just wishes he understood _why._

What’s more, he’s afraid Dean will be angry with him, now. In hindsight, Cas pushed too far; he should have left the first time Dean told him to. He’s aware he can be stubborn, sometimes, but he has no idea what possessed him to do such a thing. The one time Dean visited him during his cycle and Cas asked him to leave, Cas isn’t sure what he would have done if Dean had insisted on staying.

He knows he was wrong, now. What he doesn’t know is if Dean is going to forgive him.

Anxiety and a strange sense of rejection smother him the few days after Dean kicks him out. He doesn’t even realize how poorly he feels until he ducks out of a sparring match, vomiting on the edge of the field.

Bobby sends him straight to Ellen.

“Fever and vomiting,” she says, hand on his forehead. “Headaches?”

“Some.”

“How are you sleeping?”

He shakes his head.

“Not well.”

“And your mood?”

He hesitates. His mood is awful, of course, but if he is sick, he knows it has nothing to do with how unhappy he is.

“Fine.”

She studies him, scenting the air with a frown.

After a moment, she leans in, takes a deep sniff, and then freezes.

When she draws back, her eyes are narrowed.

“You been to see Dean?”

Cas is so surprised that fortunately, he doesn’t react at all.

“Uh. Sorry?”

“Have you been to see Dean since his rut started?”

“No,” he lies. He feels bad enough about it as it is; he’s certainly not about to confess his shame to someone else.

“Even if it was just for a few minutes.” She pauses. “Even if, say, he made you leave?”

Cas quickly shakes his head.

“No. I don’t _—_ I don’t visit Dean while he’s in rut.”

“Uh-huh.”

Ellen looks at him for a long time, and then she sighs.

“Well, it’s probably something you ate.” She abruptly turns, rummaging around in the cupboard. “I’ll blend some tea that might help . . . calm you down. You can spend the night in one of the rooms.”

Ellen prepares the tea, then herds him into the other room, brewing him a cup while he gets settled. As restless as he feels, spending the rest of the day in bed sounds wonderful.

He feels so very _drained._

“Alright. Drink up, have a nap. Try not to worry,” she adds, patting his head with a frown. “And . . . if for some reason you’re havin’ a fight with Dean, or something, you best make up sooner or rather than later.”

Cas must not be a very good liar, he decides, morose. Does Ellen think he’s worried himself into illness?

“Alright,” he agrees quietly, and doesn’t contradict her.

When he wakes the next morning, fairly late, given the angle of the sunlight, he’s relieved to find he feels much better.

He’s also relieved to immediately pick out Dean’s scent in the room.

Cas swings upright, eyes flying open, and there Dean is, perched on the edge of the bed with a breakfast tray.

His eyes crinkle when he smiles, lovely and sincere and _—_ not angry, Cas thinks.

“Hey, buddy. Heard you were sick.”

Cas gives the air a cautious sniff. Dean’s several feet away, but if were really upset, Cas thinks he’d be able to tell.

“Not very,” Cas says, fingers curling around the blanket. “And, uh. How _—_ how are you?”

Dean studies him for a moment, and then he sort of looks down, scratching his neck.

“Good. I’m good, Cas.” He clears his throat. “I, uh _—_ I think we’ve got some stuff to talk about.”

Cas feels queasy all over again.

“I’m sorry,” he says quickly. “I shouldn’t have _—_ I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you.”

Dean sighs, pushing a hand through his hair and turning more fully to face Cas, eyes serious.

“It’s not your fault, Cas.”

“It is. You asked me to leave, and I should have respected that. Please forgive me.”

Looking pained, Dean shakes his head.

“Nothin’ to forgive,” he says gruffly. “I, uh. We should’ve maybe had this talk a while ago, but hey, better late than never, right?”

Cas swallows.

“What talk?”

Dean takes a breath.

“Listen, you gotta know, Cas _—_ you don’t need to do that.”

“Do . . . what?”

“Help with my rut. And . . .” He shrugs. “Other shit. I don’t _want _you to do that. It’s not _—_ I promise you, man, that’s not something I’ll ever want from you.”

It’s been a while since anyone’s landed a good hit on Cas during training, but if he recalls, this is not a dissimilar feeling to being punched in the gut.

“Oh.” Cas had felt bad enough, thinking that in rut, when sex was performed as a practicality rather than recreation, Dean found him unacceptable; but if Cas is understanding correctly, Dean is assuring him that he is _never_ going to want Cas, under any circumstances.

It seems Cas has tortured himself the last few months for nothing; it’s irrelevant, whether or not Cas wants Dean.

The reverse is not going to be true. Not even once Cas proves he is a man.

A hand covers his clenched fist, and Cas looks up, startled to realize he can scent Dean’s distress.

“Hey,” he says softly. “Don’t _—_ don’t look like that, Cas. It’s okay, I swear.”

It’s really not, but Cas gives Dean a short nod, turning away.

“Okay. Thank you for telling me. I’d like to go back to sleep, now,” he says, as politely as he can manage, though he’s embarrassed to find his eyes sting.

“No _—_ Cas_—_” There’s a brief pause, and then the mattress shifts under him as Dean crawls over, propping up against the headboard and tugging Cas toward him.

“Dean — what—”

“Shut up,” Dean mutters, and Cas reluctantly allows himself to pulled into a hug of sorts, although it’s mostly just Cas leaning against Dean, one of Dean’s arms wrapped around him.

It’s nice. Cas is upset, right now, and Dean should leave him to be upset in peace, but this is nice.

A part of Cas kind of resents it.

“I talked to my Dad,” Dean says quietly, apropos of nothing. “And I heard Michael talked to you.”

That throws Cas, somewhat.

“He did,” he agrees, curiosity momentarily superseding his upset. “What does that have to do with your father?”

He feels Dean draw back, and tilts his head up to find Dean giving him a look.

Dean’s face is very close, and Cas tries to remember that he’s not supposed to care about that.

“Heirs,” he says finally, then gently puts a hand on Cas’s head to guide it back to his shoulder. “That’s what my Dad talked to me about.”

A chill goes through him.

His first impulse is to protest, to remind Dean that he said they could wait — but he realizes now that that was years ago.

Besides, even if Dean doesn’t want to have heirs right now, he’s very loyal to his father. If the king commands it, Dean will probably do it.

On the other hand — Dean lied about their wedding night, to protect Cas. As much as Cas doesn’t want to cause him more trouble, he also really, really doesn’t want to have heirs right now.

Of course, he’s not sure how Dean could lie about such a thing.

He waits in tense silence, trying and failing to prepare himself for the worst. Will Dean inform him they’re going to attempt this, now? Cas doesn’t understand how sex, while in theory the same thing regardless of the circumstances, can seem so vastly different from situation to situation. He was ready a few days ago, when he went to visit Dean — when Dean pushed him down and rolled on top of him and asked him if he understood, even. He _did _understand, and he felt ready.

Now?

Now, he’s not ready at all. Now he just feels sick.

Dean’s hand comes up, threading through his hair, and Cas closes his eyes. No, he thinks. Dean would give him at least a little time to adjust to the idea.

How much, though?

“Shit,” Dean mumbles, fingers gentle where they card through his hair. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m guessin’ that’s what Michael talked to you about, too?”

Cas nods, not quite able to speak.

Dean sighs.

“I thought so. That _fucker,_” he curses, his touch still light as he thumbs behind Cas’s ear. It’s very soothing; Cas suspects that’s the idea. “Listen, whatever he told you, forget about it, okay?”

Cas blinks.

“Forget about it?”

He feels Dean nod.

“Yeah. Just — he’s full of it. Him and my Dad both. But I talked to my Dad, and I took care of it, and I want you to know that you don’t need to worry, okay? We’re not havin’ kids anytime soon and I made it so nobody can make us.”

It’s like a three-ton weight just slid off of his shoulders, smashed to dust by Dean’s reassurance.

“You did? How? Your father is the king.”

Dean clears his throat.

“Look, like I said, Cas — don’t worry about it. It’s done. You’re good. Just train hard and, you know. Make yourself happy, alright?”

Cas has no idea what Dean has done — is a little worried about it, given what he knows about the king — but he can’t deny how relieved he is. As shameful as it is that Dean keeps protecting him in these ways, that Cas is, unavoidably, a burden — Cas is also intensely grateful.

He doesn’t think, just slides his arm around Dean’s waist and presses his cheek into the front of his tunic.

“I am happy,” he manages, a little hoarse. “I’m very happy. Thank you.”

Dean shifts, brushes his cheek against Cas’s temple.

“Don’t thank me.” He huffs. “You shouldn’t have to worry about any of this to begin with.”

“Still. If Michael had given me to someone else, I would have had to worry about it now. Before now, even.”

Dean’s fingers still.

Then he snorts, resuming the motion.

“Gee, thanks, Cas. ‘You’re much better than the alternative.’ Way to make a guy feel special.”

Cas frowns.

“You’re very special, Dean.”

“Because I’m not a total dick, apparently.”

Cas shakes his hand off impatiently, shifting away to scowl at him.

“That’s not why. Stop — stop — _fishing._” Sam complains that Dean is like this, and for the first time, Cas understands why.

Dean looks startled.

“I’m not _fishing. _You’re the one who only likes me because I’m better than all your _totally__ shitty_ other options!” he protests.

“That is _not _what I said, and even if it were, how is it an insult? You’re better than _all _the alternatives, Dean. You’re the best of anyone I’ve ever met.”

Dean’s pout slides right off his face, green eyes blinking in surprise.

“Oh. That — well, that wasn’t, uh. Wasn’t clear.”

Cas just fixes him with an annoyed glare, and then, because Dean is being deliberately difficult, flops back against his chest with perhaps a little more force than necessary.

Gratifyingly, Dean hacks out an unpleasant sounding cough.

“Jesus. You weigh a ton now, you know that, right?”

“Thank you.”

“It wasn’t a compliment.”

“I don’t care. I’ve noticed, and it’s been very agreeable in training.”

“Brat,” Dean sniffs, and Cas wriggles around with more elbows than necessary, making himself comfortable at Dean’s side until he has a decent view of his face, as well.

It occurs to Cas that this is the best he’s felt in days. He knows it’s probably just that his illness has run its course, but since Dean’s visit coincided with that, he feels particularly . . . in charity with him.

He doesn’t realize he’s smiling until Dean smirks back, cocking an eyebrow.

“Somethin’ on my face?”

Dean is being silly, of course, but there’s an impossibly warm feeling in Cas’s chest, a lot like the one that prompted him to kiss Dean that first time, when he came back from Purgaea.

Cas would very much like to kiss him now, as well, but he knows it would be unwelcome.

He settles for something he’s seen Dean do to annoy Jo, pushing up and licking his cheek instead.

Dean makes a high-pitched ‘gah’ sound, jerking back and wiping his cheek.

“Dude, what the _hell_?”

“I learned it from you,” Cas says, smugly resettling against him.

But a moment later, there’s a wet tongue snaking into his _ear_, and Cas recoils with an outraged yelp.

“Dean!”

“You started it,” Dean points out, folding his arms. “A knight should know better than to start something he can’t finish.”

Cas freezes, then narrows his eyes.

“Really,” he says, and it’s clear the moment Dean realizes his mistake.

The knowledge doesn’t stop him.

Ellen is weirdly cranky at him when she comes to check on Cas, although if Cas was so sick he was throwing up yesterday, she probably doesn’t appreciate Dean rough-housing with him now. It doesn’t help that she walks in just as Dean breaks free of a surprisingly vicious headlock and shoves Cas onto his back, leaving an obnoxiously wet trail of saliva along his neck while he struggles and pushes at the side of Dean’s face.

The kid’s pretty tough, Dean grudgingly admits. All that grace and agility and shit that have always set him apart is seriously agreeing with his expanded frame.

Anyway, Ellen actually drops her bag when she comes in, yelling Dean’s name with enough force that he stops dead, leaving Cas an opening to flip them over and drool in Dean’s ear.

“Eww!” Dean complains, and totally doesn’t shriek like a small child, Cas grinning in wild satisfaction above him.

“What the hell are you two doing in my infirmary?” Ellen demands, and Dean twists his neck, trying to clean his ear off on the pillow.

“Cas started it,” he complains, and Cas shrugs.

“Dean deserved it,” he retorts, and Dean gives Ellen a ‘can you believe this guy’ look, making sure Cas can see it.

In response, Cas pinches his side.

“Good morning, Ellen,” he says, apparently content to perch astride Dean’s stomach while he exchanges pleasantries. “How are you?”

Ellen is frowning, big-time.

“Alright,” she says slowly. “I take it you’re . . . feeling better.”

Cas nods, smiling.

“Yes, much. It must have been something I ate.”

“Right,” she mutters, retrieving her bag from the floor. “Well, if you don’t mind gettin’ off of Dean, there, I’ll just make sure your temperature’s gone down, and then you should eat that breakfast he brought you before it goes cold or falls off the damn bed.”

Dean glances to the side, wincing. He totally forgot about breakfast, and it looks about three inches away from sliding right off the edge.

Looking equally dismayed, Cas quickly climbs off of Dean and drags the tray back to safety.

“Sorry,” he says, sheepish, and obligingly sits on the edge for Ellen’s examination.

Ellen pronounces him good to go, but offers to let him spend the day in the room, and he hesitates.

“You have to go to the courtyard, don’t you?” he asks, looking at Dean, and Dean nods.

“Oh. Yeah, I guess.”

Cas nods.

“Alright. I’ll go to the field, then.”

Ellen gives Dean an inscrutable look, a frown all around the edges, and then sighs.

“Okay. Eat your food and get out of here, then.”

Breakfast is cold, but pretty nice. Obviously, Dean likes eating in the Hall, but breakfast in bed with Cas is always weirdly fun; he wouldn’t mind doing it more often.

They sit in companionable silence, polishing the lot of it off — though Dean has to eat most of the carrots — and then Cas reluctantly moves to get dressed.

“I’ll see you in the courtyard?” he asks, and Dean nods, standing up and stretching.

“Yeah, sounds like a plan.”

Cas pauses for a moment, just sort of staring back, and then with a huff, he turns and starts stripping off his pajamas.

Dean blinks, then turns and picks up the tray.

“Later, man. Have fun playin’ with the other kids.”

He dodges the shirt Cas throws at him and sails out the door with a smirk.

His Dad might be the most pissed off he’s ever been, but Dean still feels pretty good about where things are headed.

Cas leaves the infirmary in high spirits, though by lunchtime, he’s considerably more sober.

He’s not sick anymore, and he’s relieved to find that Dean isn’t angry with him after all — not to mention that he doesn’t have to worry about heirs — and he of course enjoyed playing around with Dean this morning, but none of that changes the fact that Michael was right in that Dean doesn’t want him.

There was affection this morning, in spades, which softens the blow considerably, but now that Dean is gone, Cas is faced with the new reality that all his suffering the last few months was for naught, because in his own words, Dean is _never _going to want him. Not even once Cas is ‘old enough’, and has proven he’s a man.

It’s a shame, then, that Cas is pretty sure he’s decided he _does _want Dean.

It’s a bad feeling, frustrating and deeply hurtful, and he bitterly wishes he’d never talked to Sam in the first place. He’d been content to be in love with Dean, unreciprocated and solely preoccupied with making sure it didn’t cause Dean unhappiness — but now he has things he _wants_; things he can’t have.

Cas never realized how many of the things he wanted that he _did _have, enough that he took the feeling for granted. To know that something else he wants is simply impossible just — it feels _unfair. _The last time he felt like this, he was thirteen and newly presented and everyone was telling him that not only was he not allowed to be a knight, he had to leave home and do whatever some random man in Lawrence told him to.

It’s petty, because Dean can’t really be blamed for the fact that his preferences do not include Cas, but knowing that he _doesn’t_ always do what Dean tells him to is some consolation. Cas can’t be certain, but Lawrence is vastly different from Eden, and he strongly suspects no one told Dean Cas had been given this instruction.

Cas is not about to be the one to do so.

Still; he can’t help but be morose. Dean seemed very sure that he would never want Cas, and yet, some contrary part of Cas keeps trying to rally against that, asking ‘what if’ and trying desperately to devise some means of changing his mind.

It’s wrong and perverse, and Dean would probably not be happy if he knew, but his brain does it anyway.

“Oh, no,” Valencia comments, dropping to the space next to him at lunch. “That looks like a different kind of sick than yesterday.”

Cas sighs.

“I’m fine.” He is, after all. This is not a real illness, and he’s bound to accept it, eventually. He is a reasonable person, after all; isn’t the most important thing that he’s not fighting with Dean, that they can still eat together and play together? That Dean still cares about him?

It is, and that will have to be enough.

And because Cas is a mature adult, regardless of what Dean says, it will be.

Valencia arches a brow, bumping his shoulder.

“Which ‘fine’ is that, again?”

Cas sighs.

“The work-in-progress kind,” he admits.

“Ah. Aren’t we all,” she muses, giving a sage nod before pausing and leaning a little closer. “Did you see Dean today?”

“Yes? We had breakfast together.”

She blinks, sniffing the air a little.

“Is that all?”

“Uh. We . . . wrestled,” he elaborates, hoping it sounds less childish than it was. Cas would do it again in a heartbeat, but the idea of recounting the silliness of the tussle makes him feel embarrassed, for some reason.

Valencia gets a weird expression, and then shrugs.

“Cool,” she says, freeing her sandwich from the brown parchment it’s wrapped in.

“How could you tell?” Cas asks, curious, and she shrugs.

“You smell a tiny bit like you took a bath in him. No big deal.”

Cas blinks, startled, then immediately ducks his chin, trying to sniff at his collar.

“Oh.” She’s right; he smells a _lot _like Dean. He’s pleased to note that it’s not unpleasant; obviously, he likes Dean’s scent a lot, but the combination of it and Cas’s own is . . . agreeable. “Well — we wrestled a lot.”

Valencia bites her lip, nodding gravely.

“I see. I hope you . . . had a good time.”

“I did. I always enjoy Dean’s company, whatever we do.” Though he particularly enjoyed this morning’s game. It should have been gross, but Cas found he didn’t really mind Dean’s tongue tickling across his skin. And since Dean is so scrupulous about bathing, Cas had no qualms licking him back, either, especially not when he got such delightfully appalled reactions.

Honestly, if he thinks about it, Dean’s skin tasted sort of pleasant, in a strange way. Cas would have said skin wasn’t something you can taste, and it’s nothing like _food, _but this morning proved you certainly can and it’s not necessarily a bad thing.

“Wow,” Valencia mutters, giving him an odd look, and he snaps back to attention.

“Sorry.”

“No problem,” she says easily. “I’m just glad you’re enjoying yourself. Speaking of which—”

Valencia pulls a letter out of her pocket and smiles.

“Delivery service?”

“Of course,” he agrees. Valencia and Sam talk a little more, now, but Cas still passes letters between them. He’s a little curious as to what they talk about, but something tells him this is not a thing he should ask.

Although . . .

“What do you like about Sam?”

Valencia pauses with her sandwich halfway to her mouth.

“Uh. Probably the same things you like about Sam,” she says eventually, gaze shifting to the side.

“Sam is wonderful,” Cas agrees, and hesitates. “But I don’t want to kiss Sam.”

Valencia nods.

“That’s probably for the best. For a lot of reasons.”

When nothing more is forthcoming, Cas suppresses a sigh.

“Do _you _want to kiss Sam?”

She looks amused.

“Some days.”

“Which days?”

She shrugs.

“I could tell you about which times I wanted to kiss Sam,” she confesses, “But that would be admitting to some things I probably shouldn’t.”

“You’re being singularly unhelpful,” Cas says reproachfully, and she grins.

“So this _is _about you.”

“No, I —”

Valencia raises her brows, and Cas sighs.

“I just — I don’t understand. What makes someone want someone else?” Cas pauses, thinking about all the things Michael said to him. “Or — maybe I should ask be asking what makes someone _not _want someone else.”

Valencia looks thoughtful.

“Good question. I have no idea. Some of the things that make me want to kiss Sam also make me want to either throw something at him or cause him some amount of deep internal suffering, so,” she shrugs. “Yeah, I’m not sure I can help you.”

He frowns.

“That seems weird.”

“I told you so. Of course, that could just be me.”

Cas considers this. He’s only recently determined that he’d like to kiss Dean, and possibly-probably do other things with him, as well — at least on a trial basis — so he couldn’t really put a pattern to the times he wants to kiss Dean.

He’ll make a note of it, he decides, and then he can figure it out.

“Really, though,” Valencia continues. “There’s not really a science to it. Attraction is a mysterious and terrible thing. You just . . . feel it.”

If that’s the case, Cas is completely out of luck.

But Dean said he liked good-looking people he could laugh with, which means there must be _some _influencing criteria.

“Am I good-looking?” he blurts out, and Valencia blinks in surprise.

“Oh. Yes?”

Cas hesitates.

“Very good-looking? Or — just a little?”

She smiles slightly.

“This seems like a trick question.”

“It’s not,” he assures her. “I just — I need to know.”

He thinks, for a moment, that she’s about to ask ‘why,’ but then she just shrugs.

“Very good-looking. But if I tell you how good-looking other people think you are, you might end up like Dean, and then poor Sam will never have any peace at all.”

Cas starts.

“You — that makes it sound like I’m as good-looking as Dean.”

“Most people think so. Preferences vary, of course. I know mine do,” she mutters, strangely resigned, but Cas is still stuck on what he’s hearing.

“But — Dean is — he’s—” Cas cuts off, not sure how to explain, and Valencia looks faintly delighted. “Well, he’s — uh.”

“He’s what?”

Cas can feel himself turning red.

“Dean’s very beautiful,” he mutters, halting. “The most beautiful person in the castle.”

Dean is almost certainly the most beautiful person Cas has ever met, though Cas never really reflects on this distinction. It seems more important that Dean’s face is dear to behold, and Cas feels there are a number of contributing factors to that besides his obvious beauty.

Still, Dean _is _beautiful, and Cas finds it difficult to believe he ranks anywhere near that.

“Ah.” There seems to a breadth of meaning to that simple statement, though for the life of him, Cas can’t translate it. “Well, you’re getting there yourself. I wouldn’t worry.”

Cas swallows.

“But you said preferences vary,” he points out. “So — some people must not think I’m good-looking at all.”

Valencia is quiet for a long moment, and then she gently pats his arm.

“Could be. But try giving those people some time. You’re sort of . . . blooming, right now. That can take some getting used to.”

Cas can’t help but feel a little swell of hope.

“Really? So — someone who . . . didn’t want me, right now. Maybe later?”

“Maybe,” she agrees.

“What if they said never?”

Valencia looks a little sad for a moment, before her expression smoothes over.

“They could mean it. You’d have to be okay with that. But,” she adds. “They could change their mind. Maybe not — but they could.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

She meets his eyes, a little pained.

“Probably not. Not now, anyway. Just . . . be patient.”

Cas _hates _being patient, but the possibility of someday is better than never, so he’ll take it.

“Okay.” He sighs. “I can do that.”

And he can.

He’s just afraid that, in the end, Dean won’t change his mind at all.

Dean isn’t sure whether to be relieved or disappointed that he missed Michael’s visit, because he has half a mind to challenge the fucker to a god damn duel.

Cas was all small smiles and warm looks when Dean left the infirmary, but by the time Dean meets him in the courtyard for training, he’s strangely subdued. There’s something off about the way he moves the first ten or fifteen minutes, although Dean gets progressively more ridiculous in his fighting tactics, forcing Cas both to engage and be grudgingly amused, and by dinnertime, he seems back to normal.

It doesn’t last. He quiets right down as the meal progresses, clearly a million miles away, and he takes twice as long to eat. Dean ends up having to pace himself to make it less obvious how slow Cas is moving, and the others get up and say good night well before they finish.

And then when Dean nudges him and asks if he should order a second bath, Cas looks relieved.

It doesn’t take a genius to figure out what’s going on.

As much of a weight off Cas’s shoulders it must be, knowing he doesn’t have to worry about heirs, it doesn’t change the fact that Michael got to him. Knowing what he knows now, Dean feels like a complete heel for ever being angry at Cas in the first place.

God, Cas must have been _terrified, _coming up to Dean’s room. If Dean’s weird travel condition wasn’t fucking with his scent-processing or whatever, he probably would have been able to sniff out the fear on him.

As it is, Dean’s kind of the worst person ever for trying to scare him off the way he did. Cas was already afraid; he must have been frightened out of his wits when Dean did that.

Dean thinks of the way Cas looked him dead in the eye, anyway, said ‘Then show me,” not even wavering once, and he aches. Part of him is insanely proud of Cas, because he’s exactly the kind of person that confronts his fears with a stupid-but-badass do-your-worst attitude, but another part of him just wants to tear Michael’s throat out with his bare hands, because _something _he said must have made Cas feel like he had to do that.

And whatever that something was, it’s not letting go of Cas easy.

It’s not fair; Dean’s spent five years trying to look after Cas, make sure he felt safe and free and all that important shit here in Lawrence, but one visit from Michael and it’s clear Cas is feeling uncertain. Even if he knows he doesn’t have to have kids, it’s been put into his head that he owes Lawrence something, that he’s obligated to do something besides enjoying being young and pretty much doing whatever makes him happy.

Like, Dean remembers how Cas was when he first got here; how anxious he seemed to be about Dean potentially going off and getting himself killed. He’s pretty sure Cas eventually got comfortable with his place here, came to understand that he always _will_ have a home here, will always be taken care of, Dean or no Dean — but now that Michael’s gone and fucked with his head, the insecurity seems to be back like it never left.

Worst of all, he can tell Cas is just — feeling _bad. _This is probably why Cas tried to play that stupid joke the other night, and it sure as hell explains Cas suddenly not wanting to sleep in Dean’s room even though two days later he was figuratively throwing himself on the sacrificial pyre of Dean’s rut.

Clearly, Cas is no longer sure he’s wanted. In fact, add to that the sudden revival of his delusions of adulthood, this all looks tragically like Cas trying to prove his worth. Michael must have given him shit about playing around and enjoying his youth, and now Cas feels like he has to fulfill grown-up obligations and make himself useful.

God _damn _are the Edenish fucked up. They all hate themselves, Dean’s sure of it, and it makes them hate everybody else, too.

Anyway, it makes Dean feel frustrated and pissed and uncomfortably helpless, because he’s not totally sure what Cas needs from him, now; but Cas needs _something, _and Dean’s determined to provide it. As annoying as it is that one conversation from Michael has rendered five years of being with Dean apparently meaningless, Dean still intends to fix it or die trying.

He’s just not sure how.

Cas doesn’t say a word while they have their baths, and as worrisome as it is, it’s just as well; by the time Dean’s toweling off and putting on his pajamas, he thinks he’s figured out what to do.

When Cas was younger, a lot of his fears stemmed from Dean leaving him behind and maybe dying halfway across the continent; he seemed to think going _with _Dean would be more reassuring than staying safe and sound in a well-guarded castle.

Which — it’s not unreasonable to think that means Dean makes him feel safe and secure, right? Like, it’s just the logical conclusion. Dean’s older and bigger and the future King of Lawrence — and honestly, kind of a badass — so it even makes a fair amount of sense. Either way, it’s not a big deal.

And since it looks like Michael made him _question _that — maybe the solution is to make sure Cas understands that he’s not wrong to think that way. That he can be as much of an obnoxious little pill as he pleases, and Dean’ll still take care of him and want him around and stuff.

That Dean’ll stand between him and an exploding candelabra any day, and the reason behind that means Cas is always welcome, and always wanted.

So all Dean has to do is make him understand that, and since he’s not great with words and he’s not sure they’d be good enough to undo the damage Michael did, anyway, Dean’ll have to show him.

He can do that.

For Cas, he can do anything.

Dean dries Cas’s hair for him, just like he always does, and then he sort of segues into one of those scalp massages Cas clearly really likes (because the kid is a giant cat). Cas doesn’t say a word, just hums and keeps tilting his head to follow Dean’s hands. It’s kind of funny, but mostly it’s adorable as fuck and it makes Dean hate Michael even more because _how dare he._

They get into bed and turn out the lights, and as Cas shifts around, trying to make himself comfortable, Dean can see well enough to catch the shiver that goes through him before he tugs the blanket up a little.

“Nights are getting cold,” Dean comments, and Cas sighs.

“Yes. The barracks door sticks, and there’s a draft now that wasn’t there last year.”

“What? That’s not right. You guys need good sleep or you’ll be useless.”

He can practically hear Cas roll his eyes.

“Bobby promised to fix it before it gets cold. Up until the last couple of weeks, it was more of a . . . nice breeze.”

“Fair enough. Still. I’ll, uh. Talk to someone about it.”

“Alright.” There’s a long pause. “In the meantime, perhaps I could — borrow a blanket?”

Dean frowns.

“Or you could just sleep in here ‘til it’s fixed.”

“Oh.” Cas sounds both surprised and small, and fuck Michael one hundred thousand times, with something disagreeably large and painfully barbed, because Cas should have felt comfortable enough to come up with that solution all on his own. “Alright. Thank you, Dean.”

There’s something vaguely wistful amid the gratitude, and it’s putting that tight, helpless feeling back in Dean’s chest, so he does the only thing he can think of to fix it. He scoots toward the center of the bed and sort of lifts his arm, hoping Cas understands.

“Well, I’ll make sure there’s an extra blanket starting tomorrow, but for now . . .?”

Part of him’s not sure this is the right thing to do, is worried that Cas might misunderstand, still caught up on whatever Michael made him think he was here for — but then Cas is scooting over, tucking right up against Dean and shoving his startlingly cold nose into his neck.

“Thank you,” he says again, a little muffled, and Dean smirks into his hair, even though Cas’s hands are all folded up between them and they’re fucking cold, too.

Clearly, this was more necessary than he realized.

He wraps an arm around Cas, tilting his head down and briefly brushing their cheeks together. Cas shivers again.

“’Night, Cas,” he whispers, and after a moment, Cas lets out a soft little breath.

“Good night, Dean.”

Cas is not sure why, but Dean appears to be trying to torture him.

The worst part — the part that makes it such surprisingly effective torture — is that there’s a small, horrible part of Cas that is enjoying it immensely.

Dean is touching him _constantly. _And no, touch hasn't been rare between them for years, now, but it's becoming downright excessive. Before, Cas wouldn't have said constant touch was a thing he needed, or even craved, but now that it’s happening, he can't help but think it’s _wonderful._

Except it’s also _horrible, _because Cas does think it’s wonderful, and it very much makes him want to touch Dean back, but he has no idea if or how he’s allowed to. He doesn’t even know why Dean is doing all of this in the first place. He’s _pretty_ sure he’s not allowed to kiss Dean, but over the next several weeks, Cas begins to think about kissing Dean twenty or thirty times a day.

And it’s all Dean’s fault.

If Dean always made him feel welcome to sleep in the castle before, Cas feels downright encouraged now, and it’s hard to say no. He probably _should _say no, because one of these days, Dean is going to catch him with his damning morning situation and that will be that, but Cas can’t. Dean rambles pleasantly while they’re in the bath, oftentimes recounting the highlights of Cas’s performance that day during training, and then he spends a good fifteen minutes working over Cas’s hair with a towel and then his fingers. Sometimes, after _that, _he’ll pull a book off the shelf and lean against the headboard, right next to Cas, and read with him.

And sometimes — often, perhaps — whether they’re in bed or by the tree, Dean will put an arm around him. Sometime in the last week, Cas has started casually letting his head drop onto Dean’s shoulder, and by some fascinating miracle, this always causes Dean to start rubbing his thumb along Cas’s shoulder or even bringing his hand up to absent-mindedly toy with Cas’s hair. Of course, after that, Cas gets about half as much reading done as usual, preoccupied with trying not to just turn and kiss Dean or even simply take a _nap._

Dean’s also started dragging his chair as close to Cas’s as it will go at dinner, leaning in. Cas can’t remember the last time Dean got caught up in a conversation with someone else — not that he ever minded that, since he’s content to just observe if he has nothing to say. Still, Dean has taken to drawing him into it if more than a few minutes pass, nudging Cas with his shoulder or squeezing his arm and constantly bumping his knee against Cas’s.

There’s just — there’s so _much. _Dean walks him to breakfast with an arm slung across his shoulders, which wasn’t _unheard _of, before, but was certainly a much more rare occurrence. Cas doesn’t think he walks _anywhere _with Dean now without it happening. If not that, Dean’s squeezing his arm or shoulder or ruffling his hair or poking his cheek or jaw or forehead or some other casual, meaningless touch to add to a pile that is slowly driving Cas a little insane.

Dean doesn’t play that frustrating game in training anymore, even if he and Cas end up play-wrestling, which should be a small mercy, but it’s really not. Mostly, Cas is startled by how badly _he _wants to tackle Dean to the ground, except instead of keeping him from getting up, he would like to conduct more research on how extensive his interest in kissing really is.

It’s a problem.

In fact, it’s making _Cas _act out. He’s discovered that the first time was not a fluke, and that, in general, if Cas shivers and coughs and pretends to be cold, Dean will snuggle with him before they fall asleep. If Dean doesn’t have an arm around him already, Cas just has to sidle up close enough for their shoulders to brush, and the absence is resolved, like Dean’s not even aware of it. Any touch Cas leans into tends to last that little bit longer, and Cas has used this trick to get Dean to draw patterns across his back and shoulders, to thumb along his neck or pet his hair or any number of other things to which Cas thinks he may be forming the kind of addiction he’s only heard people discuss with alcohol or gambling.

It doesn’t help that Dean’s being almost suspiciously nice. He praises Cas for anything even remotely worthy of it, in no uncertain terms, and it’s clear from the warm, pleased look in his eye that he _means _it. Despite their courtyard lessons, he comes to watch Cas on the field every other day, it feels like, and he always has nice things to say when they meet later.

Cas is a force to behold, on those days. He’s pretty sure everyone else knows why, but even his embarrassment doesn’t stop him from pursuing the promise of those words like a man possessed.

At dinner the other night, Dean cheekily praised him for eating all his carrots; when Cas shrugged and said, “If I don’t, I’ll start behaving like your father,” the table burst into laughter, Dean’s the heartiest of all, and Dean clapped him on the back a couple of times before his hand slid up, thumb rubbing along Cas’s neck before it finally withdrew.

Sam stared at them and gave Dean a Look, but Cas’s own brain was too muddled to try and figure out the context. Every pat and poke and nudge just — _lingers _like that, now, in a way it didn’t used to.

It gives Cas this strange, on-edge feeling, except instead of being irritable, Cas feels like he’s about to just — crawl out of his own skin and right into Dean’s.

Which is just morbid, if he thinks about it, but it’s not _exactly _like that. Cas doesn’t know what it’s actually like. It’s not something he’s felt before.

It doesn’t help that even when Dean’s not there, he’s been touching Cas so much Cas catches traces of Dean’s scent on himself throughout the day. Naturally, this means he’s never far from Cas’s thoughts, and since he’s also _actually _paying Cas ridiculous amounts of attention —

Cas is feeling a little overwhelmed.

Even Charlie remarks on it, plunking down next to him at dinner while he waits for Dean to return from a meeting with his father; she bumps his shoulder with hers, only to make a face immediately after.

“Yikes. Somebody’s been getting _way_ carried away. I can barely smell you under all the sunshine and trees and happy alpha.”

Cas blinks at her.

“You think I smell like Dean,” he clarifies, and she nods vigorously.

“Yup. More like you _reek _of Dean. Which, hey, that makes sense, since he can’t go five minutes without scent-mar—”

Sam coughs loudly as he takes a seat on the other side of the table.

“Yeah, they sure have been spending a lot of time together, haven’t they? Dean’s got that nice, fresh thing going for him now, too. I guess that just happens when you hang out so much. Right, Charlie?”

Charlie gives Sam a strange look, glancing between them.

“Uh. Right?”

It’s a puzzling exchange, but honestly, Cas is more interested in what Sam said.

“_Dean_ smells like me?”

He supposes that makes sense — all of Dean’s touching means contact between them. Still, it’s usually Dean’s hands brushing Cas’s skin, or Dean’s cheek against Cas’s temple, Cas struggling to keep his own hands to himself; to stay still, except for whatever subtle encouragements in body he’s brave enough to attempt, and just let it happen.

“Yeah,” Sam confirms, still looking at Charlie. “All the sleepovers and training, I guess.”

Cas would be lying if he said he didn’t like scenting traces of Dean on himself as he went about his day, as distracting as it can be; for some reason, thinking Dean might be facing the same conundrum pleases him immensely.

“The sleepovers and training,” Charlie repeats. “Right. That’s it. Makes . . . sense.”

Across the table, Valencia shakes her head.

Sam launches into a conversation about the dubious existence of fairies then, which Charlie joins reluctantly at first, but then engages in with gusto. By then, Dean returns, lightly palming the space where Cas’s shoulder meets his neck.

“Hey, what am I missing?” he asks, using his free hand to pull his chair out — and yes, toward Cas’s in what must be a deliberate move — and then settles in, hand sliding down Cas’s back before snaking around him to reach for the plate, even though it means he has to lift it over Cas’s head afterward.

“Charlie thinks that thing in the woods is a fairy ring,” Sam explains, although he seems to be watching Dean’s hand with a frown.

“Uh. It’s not really a circle,” Dean points out, puzzled, and spears a large hunk of roast to put on Cas’s plate.

“It kind of is.”

“It has two corners.”

“Why the hell would a fairy just make circles?” Charlie insists. “That sounds like a stupid rule humans would make up.”

Sam looks thoughtful.

“Actually, that’s kind of a good point.”

Dean fills the tiny amount of space remaining on Cas’s plate with a few carrots (cooked, fortunately) and slides it back in front of him.

“I swear I remember there bein’ some wildflowers, though.”

“Yeah, before everything there _died._”

“Are you sure—”

“I’m sure.” Charlie narrows his eyes. “Also, I’m pretty sure I saw a fairy once.”

Sam and Dean seem largely convinced the fairy was a wandering visitor to the town, but do acknowledge that the area’s persistent delineation _is _kind of weird.

“What about you, Cas? They have fairies in Eden?”

“Well, I never met any.”

“No, I mean — that one of the stories we share?”

Cas nods.

“Anna told me stories when I was growing up. And some of the boys in my rank insisted there was a woman dressed in white who wandered the woods, weeping on full moons, although I don’t know how they would have known that, given that our curfew was sundown.”

Charlie chuckles.

“They probably snuck out, Cas.”

“Oh.” Cas never thought about that before, though he should have; knights-in-training have much more freedom here, but Cas still knows people sneak out of the barracks. “Ah. Yes, they must have.”

She looks amused.

“Oh, come on. You’ve snuck out before.”

“No, I —” he starts, and then remembers. “Oh, right. Sam and I slept in the tent.”

Cas meets Sam’s eyes across the table, and they share a grin. Cas didn’t appreciate the weird fuss that happened afterward, but it was a delightfully fun night. He knows that for whatever reason, they’re not supposed to, but if they could just be a little more sneaky, Cas would like to do it again, sometime.

Judging by the widening grin on his face, Cas suspects Sam is thinking the same.

Abruptly, there’s a warm hand on Cas’s chin, turning his face toward Dean, who frowns at him and reaches out, thumb presumably scrubbing away some smear or other at his mouth.

“Aren’t you kinda old to be wearing your food?” he mutters. Cas would be offended, but Dean is still holding onto his chin, scowling from not very far away at all.

And then Dean brings his other hand up, licking his thumb and rubbing it at the other corner, slow and thorough, gaze intent on his work, and Cas wonders if Dean can feel the rising blush beneath his fingers.

“For the love of—” Charlie starts, and Cas thinks he hears a thump from under the table before she abruptly cuts off.

“You sure you got it all, brother?” Benny asks, brows raised at Dean as he turns Cas’s face from left to right, carefully inspecting his handiwork.

“Maybe,” Dean says gruffly, not bothering to look at Benny. His thumb strokes along Cas’s jaw, still faintly damp from saliva, and Cas has absolutely no idea why his brain seems to stick on that though. “Huh. Thought I remembered you shaving this morning.”

It takes Cas a moment to catch up, and he shrugs, both afraid and hopeful the movement will dislodge Dean’s hand.

It doesn’t.

“I did. It just does this.” The older Cas gets, the more prickly his face starts to feel by the end of the day. He’s surprised Dean hasn’t noticed sooner, though he supposes that sort of change is gradual.

“Yeah, keep at it, Dean,” Charlie chimes in, scooting back in her chair for some reason. “I don’t think you got his whole mouth.”

Dean finally looks away, patting Cas’s cheek before releasing him altogether and giving Charlie a funny look.

“No, I did. He’s good, now.”

Charlie just sighs.

Dinner proceeds without further incident, although Cas catches himself eating a little more messily. Ashamed, he forces himself to take small, neat bites, and tries not to feel too wistful.

It’s so awkward and uncomfortable when Dean does things like that, and yet, Cas can’t help but wish he would do them again.

They say good night to everyone, and Cas automatically follows Dean up his room. He doesn’t sleep in the barracks more than two nights a week, anymore, and since Dean doesn’t seem to mind, Cas doubts that’s likely to change.

Half of him wants to ask if he can move his things to the castle, but the other half of him is afraid Dean will realize Cas is there _too _often, and also unsure what he’ll do without some haven to retreat to.

He strips down as quickly as possible, careful not to watch Dean at his more leisurely pace, and sinks into the hot water with a happy groan. There’s a chuckle from the other side of the room, and Cas makes the mistake of glancing over to where Dean is halfway into the tub, watching him with an amused grin.

Half-crouched as he is, Cas looks a second too long, and finds himself thinking about what Meg said about butts.

It’s just a butt, though, he reminds himself, tearing his gaze away. Just a normal, regular butt. Well, not regular; Cas has seen a number of his barrackmate’s butts in passing, and though he’s never thought to study any of them, he’s fairly certain none of them have a butt like Dean’s.

Why on _earth _is he thinking about butts, now?

“Long day?” Dean asks, easing into the water, by the sound of it, and Cas nods stiffly.

“My old rank trained with us. I had to pull Alfie all over the field in a weighted sled.”

“Aw, couldn’t have been that bad,” he teases. “Alfie’s just a slip of a thing; not all big and strappin’ like you.”

As nice as Dean has been to him, lately, Cas does not deceive himself that this is anything but mockery. Cas measured five-ten at his last physical, which is perfectly respectable, but Dean is at least three inches taller than that and either way, Cas has a ways to go before he finishes filling out.

He’s a _decent _size, though, and it’s rude of Dean to make fun of him.

“I’m not small, Dean.”

There’s a pause.

“I didn’t say you were,” Dean says, and sounds genuinely confused. Cas chances a glance over, but Dean doesn’t look like he’s laughing at him.

“Oh.” Unsure, Cas clears his throat, sliding a little further into the tub. “Well, after the first hour, he felt very heavy.”

Dean snorts.

“Yeah, I remember doing that. After an hour, _everything _feels heavy. You’re gonna feel that in the morning.”

“I was afraid of that,” Cas mutters, and Dean laughs again.

“Bobby’ll go easy on you guys tomorrow, don’t worry.” There’s the sound of Dean sluicing his washcloth across his skin, and Cas reluctantly begins to do the same.

Dean makes idle conversation until they’re finished, inquiring after the menu for Cas’s birthday and debating the logistics of a giant honeycake.

Cas, for his part, is appalled. The whole point of the honeycake is the sweet, glazed crust that forms all over the exterior. The ratios will be a disaster if you try to turn it into a large cake.

For some reason, this amuses Dean greatly, and he declares the solution to be the honey pie.

Cas likes the honey pie almost as well as the cakes — possibly even better, in some ways, since it only appears when Dean seems determined to be thoughtful — but it’s not Dean’s place to declare these things.

“Alright, compromise. We’ll have both. And those weird pink cookie things you like.”

Cas wants to protest, on principle — Dean is, of course, still trying to make it his decision — but this idea appeals enough that he grudgingly agrees.

He makes short work of dressing, wincing a little as he tugs on his shirt and his increasingly sore muscles make their objections known, and when he reemerges from the collar, Dean is frowning at him.

“What?”

After a pause, Dean straightens up and gestures to the bed.

“Lie down,” he instructs.

Dean usually has Cas sit on the edge of the bed while he towels off his hair, but perhaps he can tell how tired Cas is and he’s trying to be kind; it certainly isn’t the strangest thing Dean’s done lately, so Cas crawls onto the bed and settles on his back without questioning it.

Dean shakes his head.

“On your front,” he says, walking over, and then puts a staying hand on Cas’s shoulder when he tries to turn. “Actually — take your shirt back off?”

“But I’m sore,” Cas protests, although as soon as he says it, he wonders why Dean would want his shirt off. The nights are growing progressively colder as they approach winter, and going shirtless isn’t practical.

Dean nods, eyes sympathetic.

“I know, but trust me. Here, I’ll help you,” he adds, reaching for the hem of Cas’s shirt. “Arms up?”

Having Dean take off his shirt is an altogether different experience than taking it off himself. Cas can tell _Dean _doesn’t think much of it, but from Cas’s perspective, sore muscles and the curiousness of the request are utterly forgotten, replaced by an acute awareness of Dean’s knuckles brushing up his sides and down his arms.

“Alright, _now _lie on your front.”

After a moment to gather his bearings, Cas slowly turns over and stretches out on his his stomach.

“Tuck your hands under your chin — no, not that way — yeah, like that — good.”

It feels weird. Cas tends to curl up on his own or curl around Dean, as the night progresses; he’s not sure he remembers lying down like this before, and certainly not without his shirt and with Dean hovering over him, arms folded up by his head.

Still, he waits patiently. No doubt Dean has a plan, even if Cas is at a loss as to what it could be.

Cas’s vision goes dark as the towel settles over his head, and he relaxes into the bed with a sigh, relieved Dean hasn’t forgotten. He isn’t sure why his shirt needed to be off for this, but he can certainly see the appeal of the rest of it; lying down like this, cheek resting against the sheet while Dean works the towel over his hair, is vastly more comfortable than having to sit up.

Although, there are some downsides. By the time Dean sets aside the towel and presses his fingers to Cas’s scalp, lightly massaging, Cas is about ready to fall asleep.

He’s nearly there when Dean’s hands withdraw, and he cracks open eyes he doesn’t remember closing to see Dean pouring something into his hand.

“What’s that?” Cas mumbles, and Dean meets his eyes, quirking his lips.

“Oil.” He rubs his palms together rapidly, and then turns back to Cas. “Just relax, okay?”

Cas isn’t entirely sure he can _get _more relaxed, but he nods, shifting a little in an effort to do so.

And then Dean’s palms come to rest on his shoulders, warm and slick with oil, and Cas is both wide awake and no longer relaxed _at all._

“Dude,” Dean complains, pressing him down a little. “I told you to _relax._”

“What are you doing?” Cas asks, fighting to keep his voice even.

“It’s called a massage. It’ll help with sore muscles, so you can sleep easier and suffer less in the morning. That okay?” he adds, unnecessarily sarcastic. Does Dean really not see how this situation might be a trifle unsettling?

“I — I guess. Alright.”

Oh, dear. Cas can _feel _Dean splay his fingers.

“Then relax,” he says again, much closer to Cas’s ear, and after a deep breath, Cas forces himself to stop tensing.

With a satisfied hum, Dean starts moving his hands.

At first, it doesn’t do much for the sore muscles, since Cas is struggling to keep from tensing again and his brain is in a sort of surreal panic, not at all equipped to deal with Dean’s warm, calloused hands slipping over Cas’s skin, spreading the oil all over his back and pressing gently inward. The pads of Dean’s thumbs slide easily down the notches of Cas’s spine as the heels of his hands suddenly dig in on either side, and Cas is startled by the unintended groan that escapes him.

Dean increases the pressure in response, dragging his hands back up to Cas’s shoulders and firmly kneading the flesh there, at which point Cas realizes just how nice it actually _does _feel on his exhausted muscles.

By the time Dean’s worked across his shoulders, dipping along the blades and down over his lats, Cas is utterly boneless, torn between drifting away on a cloud of bliss and feeling trapped in a special hell tailored just for him. Every time Dean’s hands perform some magical combination of movement and pressure, Cas can feel one kind of tension loosening and another kind building to an alarming degree, hot and demanding and so very aware of the way Dean’s skin feels against his, that thin, slippery layer of oil the only barrier between them.

It means he can’t quite let go and get lost in the spectacular massage the way he wants to — and he _does _want to, since he’s not sure if Dean can be convinced to do this to him again.

As it turns out, he lets go more than he thinks. Dean’s left his back and shoulders behind, working his hands around the curve of Cas’s biceps with wonderfully firm strokes that have Cas stifling low moans into the sheet. The pressure is incredible on his aching muscles, and Cas is startled at how strangely sensitive the skin just above his elbows feels as the tips of Dean’s fingers brush it, only to be followed by the flat of his palms, thorough in their ministrations. It almost tickles, and the sensation has Cas instinctively wriggling against the sheet, like he’s trying to diffuse the sensitivity through the rest of his body.

He freezes a moment later when it hits him.

Oh, God, _no. _There is a definite morning situation happening.

The pressure lightens.

“You okay? I’m not hurting you, am I?”

“N-no,” Cas manages, mortified. He has no idea how long a massage lasts, but he may not have _time _to wait for it to settle down, especially not when the massage seems to be causing the problem in the first place.

He certainly can’t take care of it the _other _way, he thinks dryly, and regrets it a moment later when _that _thought draws forth memories from his last heat, of being in this bed and thinking about Dean helping him.

Cas is _not _in heat and there is no practical reason for Dean to help him with this — or for Cas to even _think _about it — and yet, one wayward thought curiously paints an image of one of those hands slipping around his waist and on down to wrap around his —

“Dean, what is the most disgusting thing you’ve ever encountered?” Cas blurts out, panicked.

Dean’s hands still.

“Uh.” After a moment, he resumes his work, gentle as he rubs Cas’s arms, slowly traveling back to his shoulders. “Let’s see . . . oh, shit. Did I ever tell you about Ash and the Purgaean swamp?”

“No?”

“Yeah, I probably didn’t wanna give you nightmares.” He clears his throat, circling the meat of Cas’s shoulder and digging his fingers in a little for pressure. “So, we’re in the woods, right? Because it’s Purgaea and you’re always in the fucking woods there.”

Cas snorts, despite himself. He has at least three letters entirely devoted to complaining about the woods, and every other letter contains at least one mention.

“Anyway, we take a wrong turn, and it turns out that in addition to goddamn woods, they have _swamps._”

“What’s a swamp like?” Cas asks. He’s pretty sure he knows, based on books he’s read, but they sound awful and disgusting and Dean can be unnecessarily graphic sometimes, so a detailed description would probably be useful now. Cas has found that the less pleasant you can make your thoughts at times like these, the better.

“Uh. Wet. Muggy. Gross. Terrible. Uh, think like . . . yeah, okay. At the end of a training day in the dog days of summer, you know how your armpit gets?”

Cas makes a face, a little afraid of where this is going.

“Yes?”

“Yeah, it’s like that. Think if there was a giant armpit on a hot, busy day, except none of the sweat evaporated, and you just kinda had to swim in it.”

There’s a weird feeling in the back of Cas’s throat that sort of reminds him of throwing up.

“That’s . . . Dean, that’s disgusting.”

“You _asked _for disgusting!” Dean protests, pinching Cas’s side and then moving both hands there. “How’s your lower back?”

“A little sore,” Cas admits, not thinking. “I had to lean over to pull the sled.”

“Alright,” Dean says, and then starts rubbing his hands in circles along the small of Cas’s back.

Cas tries to think of swimming in an armpit.

“Anyway, that’s actually not the digusting thing I was gonna tell you.” There’s a pause, Dean’s fingers just barely managing to curl around Cas’s waist at the tips while he works the muscle in Cas’s lower back. “Although, one more thing — think if the armpit pool was full of mosquitoes.”

Cas cringes. He _hates _mosquitoes. They’re so small — barely noticeable — and yet they wreak terrible havoc on his comfort. There is no defense he can muster, regardless of how good a knight he becomes.

He feels itchy just _thinking _about them.

“So, yeah. We wanna turn around, but there’s a pretty large group of soldiers not that far behind us, so we have no choice but to push through in this direction. Which means we go through the swamp, and there’s not even time to build boats or any kind of bridge. We just gotta — push through.”

Cas frowns, thinking of all the books he’s read.

“Dean, that sounds dangerous. Anything could be in a swamp.”

“Yeah, man, that’s what I’m telling you. Actually, that’s probably why I _didn’t _tell you in the first place. Huh. Well, anyway, so we kind of find the shortest crossing point, not too bad, maybe about — forty minutes’ cautious trek? Obviously, way more, with that many people, but yeah, somethin’ like that. And everyone’s pretty sure the middle is gonna turn out to be a deep lake or there’ll be some weird-ass monsters or we’ll get swamp disease, you know, shit like that, but other than being gross and wet, it’s just — fine. No problems. We all make it across by nightfall, and we start setting up camp, and _then _— Ash pulls this fucking fish-slug thing out of his pants. Got in there on the way over.”

“That is disgusting,” Cas agrees, although it’s not half as disgusting as the armpit metaphor.

“No, it ain’t. It’s weird, but it’s not disgusting. No, what’s _disgusting _is the fact that he decides to try and cook it and _eat _it.”

Cas is momentarily distracted by Dean’s hands slipping down, thumbs brushing the waistband of his pajamas as his hands work in circles, but then Dean’s words sink in.

He lifts his head.

“But — he didn’t know what it _was._”

“Yeah, that’s what I told him, but apparently, he was tired of jerky and dried biscuits. Anyway, so he gets it cooking, and it turns all nice and crispy, and even I’m starting to admit it doesn’t look or smell half-bad — and then he tries to cut into it.”

Cas swallows. He swears a thumb just slid right _below _his waistband, but Dean’s strokes are light and erratic enough that Cas is pretty sure he’s not paying full attention.

He twists his neck a little, and a glance confirms that yes, Dean’s eyes are far away, expression grim.

“What happened?” he asks, and Dean shakes himself.

“It pretty much exploded. Bright blue slugfish innards, all over the fucking plate. Even got on Ash’s armor a little.”

“Bright _blue_?” Cas repeats, appalled.

“Yep. And you wanna know the worst part?” Dean asks, pausing to lean in close, eyes serious.

“What?” Cas whispers.

“_He tried to eat it anyway._”

It’s then that Cas realizes, despite Dean’s proximity and wandering hands, the morning situation is completely gone.

Unfortunately, he feels a little queasy now.

“What do you mean, ‘tried’?”

Dean draws back, resuming his motions.

“Jesus, Cas, what kind of leader do you think I am? I threw it back in the fucking swamp.” He shakes his head. “Swear to God, I saw tiny little _teeth _in that mess. I’d say the wilderness was gettin’ to him, but Ash is always fuckin’ weird.”

“I suddenly regret kissing him,” Cas mumbles, horrified, and Dean comes to another halt.

He’s quiet for a moment.

“Yeah, well — you should,” he mutters, and then he’s leaning down again, partially balancing on Cas’s back. “How d’you feel? Better?”

Cas frowns. On the one hand, a lot of his aches and pains have softened into something fairly negligible, and he also no longer has an erection.

On the _other _hand, he is probably going to have nightmares about the fishslug.

“Mentally or physically?” he asks, and Dean barks out a surprised laugh, the mint in his breath causing Cas’s nose to twitch as it hits his face.

“Dude, you _asked _for that,” Dean says and then —

Cas lets out a shocked, undignified yelp as Dean lightly slaps one butt cheek.

“Alright, come on — bedtime,” Dean says jovially, like he didn’t just — like the skin underneath Cas’s pajamas isn’t still tingling where he —

Cas gapes at him, cheeks scarlet, but Dean just picks up the towel and starts wiping off the oil like nothing happened.

“What was _that _for?” he finally sputters, and Dean pauses, giving him an odd look.

“What was what for?”

Like _Cas _is the one being strange, when Dean is the one who just — just — well, he touched Cas’s butt!

That’s — Dean has been increasingly physical over the last several weeks, it’s true, but surely that’s going a little far?

Especially since he _hit _it! That’s very different than everything else he’s doing. Although if he touched Cas’s butt the way he’s been touching other parts of Cas, slow rubs and comforting squeezes—

Cas looks down, suddenly no longer able to meet Dean’s gaze.

“If the point of that was to make me feel better, I don’t know why you hit me at the end of it.”

“What?” Dean sounds concerned. “Did it hurt?”

“Well — no, but it — it was _surprising._”

Dean looks puzzled.

“Don’t your barrack-mates do that all the time?”

If any of his barrack-mates — if anyone besides _Dean _— tried to slap his ass, Cas would make sure they ended up flat on theirs.

“No. They wouldn’t dare,” he adds darkly, and Dean’s lips twitch.

“Okay. Well, sorry. It’s meant to be playful. We do that in my squad. We smack asses and snap towels and rub armpits on each other.”

“That’s barbaric,” Cas says, carefully not thinking about drooling in Dean’s ear, because the _point _is that Dean should keep his hands off Cas’s butt.

Dean snorts.

“Yeah, I get why your barrack-mates don’t do it to you, then.” He suddenly frowns a little. “Well, ‘s’probably for the best, anyway.”

Cas has no idea what that means.

Dean tosses aside the towel before planting a hand on the bed and giving Cas’s shoulder a surprisingly gentle nudge.

“Alright, outta my spot before I lie down on you.”

Cas blames his reluctance to move on the massage he just received, and obediently rolls over to his own side.

Surprisingly, it takes him no time at all to fall asleep.

“. . . sorry about your shin, but seriously, he doesn’t know, and I think it’s best if no one tells him.”

Dean slows, tightening the arm around Cas’s shoulder to keep him back, and Cas gives him a curious look.

Dean just lifts a finger to his lips, and then turns back toward where Sam and Charlie are walking a little ways in front of them, clearly in heated discussion.

“Are you _kidding _me — there’s no way he doesn’t know! How can he not know?”

“Come on, Charlie. Think who we’re talking about.”

“Okay. Fine. But — _really_? He’s _all over _him, and he smells _ridiculous, _and — are you _sure_? Because maybe they’re secretly going at it like bunnies and he’s just doing that thing where he feels embarrassed so he denies it and makes everybody pretend with him.”

“Wow. Thanks for that, Charlie.”

Dean stifles a laugh at the dry misery in Sam’s voice, although he’s insanely curious as to who they’re talking about.

Has he been so preoccupied with trying to reassure Cas the last few weeks, he’s been totally missing out on juicy castle gossip?

“Ooh. Sorry, I forgot.”

“Anyway, I don’t think he’d lie about that. Honestly, if they were doing that, I think he’d be even _worse_ than he is now.”

“No, he wouldn’t,” Charlie retorts. “That’s not possible. Sam, they’re even starting to _smell _mated!”

Alright, now Dean _has _to know. He lets go of Cas, silently advancing on the pair in front of him.

“I know, it’s weird. But here’s the thing: they don’t spend _every _night together. If something were going on, there’s no way D—”

Dean slings an arm around each of them, grinning.

“What’s this, now?” he drawls, enjoying the stunned yelps this elicits. “Is somebody in the castle goin’ and gettin’ themselves mated?”

Sam and Charlie exchange wide-eyed glances.

“No,” Sam says, at the same time Charlie goes, “Yes!”

Dean raises his brows.

Sam’s mouth tightens, and Charlie winces.

“Oops. Sorry. Our, um, our friend, would — would be really embarrassed if he knew we were talking about him.”

Dean stares.

“Yeah, and you guys were just talking about him anyway.”

“Right, but, you know. He’s our friend. But you’re like, the prince, so he’d — I mean — anybody would be embarrassed! What if you thought he was _slacking_?” she says, blinking at him earnestly.

Dean lets go of them both, reaching back for Cas’s wrist to coax him up to pace.

“Oh, come on. Everybody knows I don’t judge, as much as I get around.”

Sam makes a really weird, constipated face at Charlie, who glances uneasily at Cas, for some reason.

It’s hard for Dean not to roll his eyes; sure, Cas is still young and primarily preoccupied with sword-fighting and what comes out of the castle kitchen, but he _is _nineteen, and he does know what sex is, even if he’s not yet at the stage where he’s thinking about it in any kind of personal terms.

“That you do,” she mutters. “But still. You don’t really know him, anyway, so — you know. No big deal!”

Dean narrows his eyes. It’s suspicious as hell, and instinct — along with Charlie’s shit acting skills — tell Dean that he probably knows the guy _extremely _well.

“It’s Benny, isn’t it?” Dean makes a note to give Benny a good sniff next time he sees him, just in case, especially when Charlie wildly shakes her head. “Man, that sneaky son of a bitch. Who’s he seein’?”

“Um, nobody? It’s really not—”

Dean waves her off, momentarily distracted by the fact that he’s still holding onto Cas’s wrist, and it’s an awkward way to leave his hand. He doesn’t want Cas to worry Dean’s forgotten or doesn’t care he’s there, so he thinks it’s a good idea to keep some contact going, but on the other hand, Cas is old enough that he might find Dean holding his hand embarrassing.

Aw, fuck it. Even when kids are embarrassed, they still appreciate it, right?

He slides his hand down and laces his fingers with Cas’s, prompting a startled look.

But then Cas quickly tightens his own hand around Dean’s, and Dean tries not to look too smug as Charlie makes a pointless attempt to convince him it’s not Benny.

“Yeah, give it up, Chuckles. I get that he’s worried about all the shit I’m gonna give him, but that’s my right as his best friend, so he can live with it.”

Charlie looks dismayed, and Sam, of course, is _conspicuously _silent.

“It’s not Benny,” she insists, and Dean just rolls his eyes.

“Sure. No point arguing about it. I’ll see him soon enough.” And totally tease the _hell _out of him.

Dean lets go of Cas’s hand to circle around Sam and Charlie, holding the door for everyone.

To Dean’s alarm, when Cas takes his seat as they reach the table, he lets out a sigh and sort of rubs at his back, like he’s kind of in pain.

“You okay, buddy?”

Cas nods.

“Just sore.”

“Yeah?” A terrible thought occurs to Dean, but one that’s valid, since it _has _been a few years since he’d last given someone a proper, non-sexy massage. Lisa was a dancer, and Dean convinced Ellen to train him on giving the legitimate medical kind, but to be honest, he rarely gives any that don’t conclude with a happy ending for all. “I, uh — I didn’t hurt you last night, did I?”

Sam’s fork clatters unpleasantly against his plate, but Dean ignores it, carefully scrutinizing Cas’s face in case he tries to lie.

He _seemed _like he was really enjoying himself — Dean doesn’t think he’s ever seen Cas so relaxed and loose-limbed before, and he kept letting out all kinds of adorable, happy noises and content sighs — but if Dean only fucked up part of the time, Cas probably wouldn’t have said anything.

“What? No, of course not. I would have told you.”

“You sure? You’ve gotta do it pretty hard, or there’s not much point, but if I was too rough—”

“You weren’t,” Cas assures him firmly. “You were, um — it felt very good, Dean. I think I’m only still this sore because I’m not used to that kind of activity.”

Charlie lets out a miserable whimper beside them, and Cas turns to give her a concerned look.

“Is everything alright, Charlie?

“Yup,” she utters weakly. “Just fine. But maybe we should eat breakfast. Because we’re at breakfast. At the breakfast _table. _Where people want to _eat_.”

Jesus Christ, Dean’s friends are weird.

“Okay, then eat?” he suggests, and she throws a sour look his way.

He tries to catch Sam’s eye, see if he’s not the only one who thinks she’s being strange, but _Sam _is scowling at him, too.

“_What_?” he asks.

Sam just huffs and reaches for the egg ladle.

A few moments later, Valencia drops into the chair beside him, takes one long look around the table, and sighs.

“Oh, damn. What did I miss?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reference to past Dean/other: Dean reflects on having asked Ellen to teach him medical massage (for sore muscles) several years ago when he was seeing Lisa, because Lisa was a dancer. He notes that despite that, he’s not used to giving a massage that doesn’t conclude with happy endings for all.
> 
> Allusion to potential non-con: John tells Dean it’s time for heirs; Dean refuses, for Cas’s sake, and says if Cas isn’t ready, Dean’s not going to force him. John says if Dean has to, then he will. (Obviously, Dean won’t. Dean won’t even do things Cas _does_ want, after all.)


	10. Part X

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: minor Benny/OFC, please let me know if I missed anything.

Sam appears to have something he _really _wants to say to Cas.

Unfortunately, he also seems to be having trouble saying it, so Cas is left in the awkward position of pretending to read his book while not quite being able to focus on it because Sam keeps looking at him.

It doesn’t help that Valencia isn’t even bothering to read _her_ book, opting to simply lay on her stomach, chin propped in her hands while she watches Sam with a serene expression.

It’s all very unsettling.

Twenty minutes into their reading session, Cas can bear it no longer.

“Sam. Is something wrong?”

Sam flinches.

“No,” he says quickly, and Cas suppresses a sigh. “Although — actually—”

“Go on,” Valencia says, encouraging, and Sam shoots her a dirty look, before turning back to Cas, brows pinched and eyes gentle in a way that doesn’t bode well for the conversation.

“Listen, Cas — you know you can talk to me about anything, right?”

“Of course, Sam.” Cas is a little startled Sam feels like he has to repeat this. Cas tells Sam pretty much anything he would be comfortable telling another person.

Sam just looks pained.

“Dean’s not — I know he’s been, um — and you’re probably feeling pretty overwhelmed — but — if you feel uncomfortable with _anything, _and you don’t feel like you can tell him, you can — you can tell _me. _And I’ll talk to him.”

Cas fully sets down his book, puzzled.

“Well. I suppose it’s been an adjustment.”

Sam deflates.

“Is it — did, um. Did Dean . . . _instigate_ it?”

“Well, obviously.” As though _Cas _would dare start putting his hands all over Dean like that. “Honestly, Sam . . . I still have no idea what it’s alright for me to do. His behavior is puzzling.”

Sam looks upset.

“He didn’t even talk to you about it beforehand? He didn’t — he didn’t say anything about _why _he wanted that? Did he at least _ask _if _you_ wanted it?”

“Uh. No? I think he just assumed.” Anyway, Cas thinks he’s made it fairly obvious he doesn’t mind. He has faith that Dean wouldn’t do it, otherwise.

Really, though, he’s glad Dean is. Even if he doesn’t fully understand it, Cas enjoys it, and more than that, it’s — well, it’s reassuring. After Michael’s visit, and then the incident with Dean’s rut, Cas felt _terrible. _The kind of terrible that doesn’t seem to want to go away, even after several days.

Dean’s behavior, baffling though it may be, has mostly chased the bad feelings away. Cas still worries he won’t be able to change Dean’s mind, that this is all just contributing to Cas’s inconvenient wanting, but it’s hard to think of the future when Dean is so overwhelmingly affectionate in the present.

Even if Dean doesn’t want Cas like _that _— even if Cas’s own desires get stranger and stronger by the day — he does want Cas around.

And that . . . that means a lot.

“You can’t just _assume _ things like that,” Sam sputters. “He _didn’t _do anything you didn’t want, right?”

“Not at all,” Cas reassures him. Sam’s concern is touching, although unnecessary. “You don’t have to worry, Sam. Honestly, I wouldn’t mind if Dean did even more of that.”

Sam looks torn between indignation and discomfort.

“Um. Right. Well, that’s — good, I guess. If you’re sure.” He bites his lip. “He still should have talked to you. Aren’t you — worried? About what it means?”

Cas tilts his head.

“Should I be?” Cas is pretty sure he knows what it means; it means Dean is fond of him and cares about him, and that is a notion to cherish.

Sam shrugs, scratching the back of his head. Beside them, Valencia is mysteriously silent, just watching.

“I don’t know. Is it — are you really okay with it? If he doesn’t, you know. If he doesn’t think he loves you the way you love him?”

Cas looks down.

“Oh. I know he doesn’t. We, uh. We . . . discussed that.” Perhaps not in so many words, but Cas doesn’t doubt that if Dean were in love with him, he wouldn’t have refused his assistance with his rut.

Cas supposes there is a chance, although Dean seems very interested in other people, that even if he _did _love Cas that way, he still might not be attracted to him — but everything he’s seen and heard suggests that unlikely.

Sam’s eyes widen.

“Wait, he _knows _how you feel?”

“Well, _no. _ I suspect he doesn’t think I’m old enough yet, and I don’t want to _upset _him.”

“Dean, you fucking _ass_—” Sam starts, clearly scandalized, before cutting off. Sam doesn’t usually curse to excess; Cas isn’t sure if that’s because he’s polite, or if he just doesn’t usually feel like it. “Look, Cas. Let me be frank. If Dean thinks you’re old enough for what you did last night, you’re old enough to be in love with him, and it was just — shitty of him not to find out before you guys did it.”

Cas stares.

Last night? He assumed Sam had simply noted Dean’s sudden increase in physicality, but if he just means last night—

Cas colors. Sam must know about the massage.

But wait — Dean made it sound like the massage was perfectly reasonable. Admittedly, it makes sense now to find that it may have been a little indecent, but why would Dean lie about it?

“He said it would make me feel better, since it had been a long day at training,” Cas blurts out, suddenly desperate to know. “Is that not it? Why did he really do it, then?”

Cas doesn’t think he’s ever seen Sam look so angry.

“He told you _what_?”

“But it seemed like a lot of work for him,” Cas continues, confused. “I don’t understand what Dean got out of it, if he did lie.”

“_What_ ?” Sam repeats, gaping. “It should have been _obvious _ what he got out of it — did he _seriously _try and act like he didn’t—”

“Cas,” Valencia interrupts pleasantly. If Cas didn’t know better, he’d say she looked amused. “I think I missed something at breakfast. Fill me in on what you and Dean did last night?”

Sam’s head snaps around as he fixes her with a despairing look.

“Well, he gave me a massage, since I had to pull Alfie on the sled and I was sore.” Cas isn’t sure how much detail she wants, but he’s perversely eager to share his trauma, so he adds, “And he told me about Ash and the slugfish.”

“Mm. Very interesting. Did you like the massage?”

_Too much, _Cas thinks, but he’s not about to admit it to anyone.

“Yes. I felt much better.”

“See, Sam? I think Dean did alright by him,” she says kindly, and when Cas looks back at Sam, he has his head buried in his hands.

“Oh, my God,” he mutters. “I’m still going to kill him, I swear to _God_—”

“What was wrong with giving me a massage?” Cas presses, a little impatient. “It _was _nice. I don’t see the problem.”

Sam takes a deep breath, lifting his head with a stiff smile.

“A massage is fine,” he says, strained. “That’s fine. I misunderstood.”

“Oh.” Cas isn’t sure what to say. “I see. To be honest, I thought you were talking about all the . . . the touching.”

“The touching?” Valencia asks curiously, earning a dirty look from Sam.

“Dean touches me a lot more now,” Cas explains, then hesitates. “Or it seems that way to me.”

She nods.

“Don’t worry, it seems that way to everyone.”

Sam studies him.

“That doesn’t bother you, either, right?”

“Not at all. It’s — nice.” Cas shrugs. “After what Michael said, it’s very nice.”

Now they’re both frowning.

“Your brother?” Sam clarifies. “What did he say?”

Cas shrugs again, embarrassed.

“He was angry we weren’t having heirs. He said it was my fault, because Dean didn’t want me, and he doesn’t share cycles with me.”

Valencia sits upright, mouth tight.

“Did he,” she murmurs. “Huh. Interesting. When’s he coming to town, again?”

“You can’t assassinate the King of Eden,” Sam says bluntly, and then turns back to Cas. “Cas, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”

“There’s nothing you can do about it, Sam.” Cas huffs. “There’s nothing _I _ can do about it. I tried, and Dean told me he didn’t want that. That he would _never _want that.”

As disappointing and humiliating as it is, complaining somehow makes Cas feel a little better.

Sam looks disturbed.

“Cas, when did all this _happen_?”

Cas rubs the back of his neck.

“Uh. When Dean came back, and hit his rut and — well, you told me he couldn’t find anyone to help him, so I thought — I didn’t want him to suffer — but — but he threw me out. And when we spoke next, he — told me. All of that.”

Sam is quiet for a moment, and when he speaks, his eyes are sad.

“Cas. I thought we talked about this over the summer. It’s not about what Dean wants or expects — and it sure as hell isn’t about what your _brother _ thinks should happen — it’s about what _you _want.”

Cas swallows.

“And I wanted to help Dean.”

“Dean wouldn’t want you helping him if that’s the only reason you were doing it.”

Cas averts his eyes, uncomfortably fiddling with the corner of his book.

“Well. I have — I’ve given it a lot of thought.” _A lot. _“And I do, uh. Want. Things. With Dean.”

Cas isn’t sure exactly _what _he wants, but the more time that passes, the more he thinks he’d be comfortable at least trying all the things.

But Sam still looks troubled.

“You’re sure you’re not just convincing yourself you feel that way so you don’t disappoint people?”

And this is certainly a possibility, but given that Dean’s assurances of not expecting or wanting anything from Cas did nothing to deter any of Cas’s restless, wayward feelings . . .

“I don’t think so. Dean is obviously happier not doing certain things with me,” Cas says, a touch bitterly, “But it doesn’t change that I want to. And to be honest, Sam, disappointing Michael when he has no power to enforce consequences is actually its own reward.”

Valencia reaches over and squeezes his hand, beaming.

“Good for you, Cas. Anna would be proud.”

Cas tilts his head, smiling back.

“Well, yes. Though at this point, I think Anna likes being sent to the tower just to get away from court.”

“She says they have an entire _library _up there. Is that true?”

Cas tries not to look smug.

“I’ve never been sent to the tower, but probably.”

“Don’t worry,” she assures him. “If you still lived there, I’m sure you’d be a permanent resident.”

Frowning, he opens his mouth.

“I’m much better-behaved than—”

Sam and Valencia exchange a frankly offensive glance, and then they both start laughing.

“I don’t see how that’s funny,” he grouses.

“That’s why it’s _funny,_” she points out, and Sam tries and fails to look apologetic.

Cas just scowls.

“_Anyway. _If you’re done mocking me, and I’ve assuaged your concerns, Sam—” he starts, glaring at both of them, and Sam does sober a little.

“I guess? It’s not really about me, Cas. I just . . . I just want you to be happy. For yourself. And whether it’s Dean or your brother or even _me — _I want to make sure you know you can tell us to — well, to go fuck ourselves. We don’t matter — you do.”

As per usual, it’s difficult to stay angry at Sam.

“You do matter. You matter very much to me.” Cas pauses. “Except for Michael. I don’t — give a fuck? About Michael.”

Sam snorts.

“Right. Nobody gives a fuck about Michael.”

“Yup, Michael’s a fucker,” Valencia chimes in, delighted, and Cas nods fervently.

“The worst fucker,” he agrees, trying out the word.

It’s a nice word, he decides.

The next day, Valencia opens her letter from Sam and bursts into laughter. For the first time ever, she holds it out for Cas to look at:

_I’m sorry I said you couldn’t assassinate the King of Eden. I didn’t mean it the way it sounded._

_ What I meant was you can’t assassinate the King of Eden _ _ without me. _

Cas is pretty sure they’re not serious, so the sentiment keeps him feeling warm all day.

They receive word that Anna has canceled her trip out there at the last minute, owing to some mysterious upheaval in the Royal family (_hint: it’s _ _ Michael and Lucifer’s fault__, _she writes), but it’s still the best birthday Cas can ever remember having.

Dean gives him another massage the night before — “Gettin’ you nice and ready for tomorrow,” he drawls, cheeky, and Cas eagerly prepares himself for torment — and Cas begins the morning with a luxuriant twenty minutes to watch Dean sleep, carefully angled to keep his head resting against Dean’s arm and any early-morning problem areas stranded a respectable distance apart. Dean stirs, eventually, blinking sleepily and then grinning wide at Cas before rolling onto his side and reaching out to tousle his hair.

“Morning, Cas,” he says, letting his fingers rest. “Happy Birthday.”

Cas beams back.

“Good morning, Dean. Thank you.”

Dean retracts his hand, yawning as he rolls onto his back.

“You excited?” he asks, the words a little garbled by the yawn.

“A little,” Cas says, although he’s very excited. There’s a light, almost giddy feeling coursing through him, and as much as he’s eager to begin the day, he also itches to do something like chase after Dean’s hand and flop on top of him to snuggle for a little bit before they have to get up.

He settles for scooting closer, propping up on his elbows and peering into Dean’s face, where a pillow seam appears to have creased his cheek.

Cas can’t resist. He reaches out, trailing a finger along it, and Dean blinks.

“Your pillow left a mark,” Cas explains, and Dean cracks a smile.

“Yeah, well, it’s nice that one of you is able to,” he teases, and there’s a part of Cas that wants to — to duck his head and _ bite _Dean, or something, just to wipe the smirk off his face.

But this isn’t training, or a proper match, and it wouldn’t count, so Cas refrains.

“You were sleeping,” he says instead, giving Dean an arch look. “I could do a lot more to you than the pillow if I did it while you were _ unconscious _.”

“No, you couldn’t,” he argues lazily. “Wouldn’t stay unconscious for long if you were trying to attack me.”

“I can be very stealthy. In training scenarios-”

“Yeah, yeah, I know all about you and your teleporting through the woods bullshit. Still — I like my odds.”

“We’ll see,” Cas says, deliberately cryptic, and Dean snorts.

“You know, if you start trying to attack me in my sleep, I’m kicking you out.”

“I’m not sure why it would bother you. You seem to think I won’t get anywhere.”

Dean narrows his eyes, looking at Cas for a long moment.

And then he grins, rolling over and taking Cas with him.

“Dean,” Cas protests, although it’s very halfhearted. For starters, Dean struggles a little to knock Cas off-balance and onto his back — “Too many fuckin’ honeycakes,” he mutters — and even once he’s done it, his chosen method of retaliation is tickling.

It’s not that Cas _isn’t _ticklish, it’s just that he’s not ticklish enough for it to stop being fun. As it is, this is as close to the morning cuddle he’d kind of wanted as he’s going to get, and while he gamely squirms around, batting at Dean’s hands, he’s mostly content to lie there and focus on the nearness, breathing in Dean’s scent and soaking up his grinning, breathless laughter.

“You’re letting me win,” Dean complains. “Thought that was my move.”

Cas’s laughter dies.

“_Excuse _me?”

Dean just smirks, planting elbows on either side of Cas and lowering his head, amusement written all over his face.

“You’re gettin’ closer every day, I’ll give you that,” he says, breath tickling over Cas’s mouth in a way that’s somewhat distracting, despite Cas’s indignation. “But you’re not there yet.”

It’s peculiar, Cas thinks, speechless. There’s rage, distinct and plenty, though that is hardly a surprise (mostly, it’s Dean’s _attitude _that infuriates him, as per usual), and then there’s something else. Something prickly and urgent and absolutely related to the way Dean has relaxed atop him, the way Cas’s cheeks seem to sap warmth directly from Dean’s, the way his eyes are so close they have to bounce back and forth to hold Cas’s.

For some reason, Cas thinks about what Valencia said, about how sometimes the moments she wants to kiss Sam are also the ones when she wants to throw something at him.

Cas can’t help himself. He looks at Dean’s mouth, and he wonders. It could be part of the game, he reasons. Like the drooling game they played; is this really that different than Cas licking him? Isn’t it just another — cheeky irritant? A dare for retaliation, a non-serious contest of dominance?

It’s not like — it isn’t like Dean couldn’t kiss him back. It would be — amusing. Dean would find it funny, just like the licking game, would delight in thwarting Cas’s efforts to get away, mouth latching onto Cas’s and holding fast —

Ah, but if Cas is trying to kiss him, as well, then — that’s not much of a game. They’d just end up kissing each other for some long period of time, and while Cas is past the point of trying to deny the appeal of that, he suspects Dean would have some questions.

But then, if the rules were just like the licking game, then the point would be to — to kiss in different places. Would that satisfy Cas’s desire to kiss Dean, if the kisses being exchanged were not always happening on the mouth?

Cas tries to picture it, the standard wrestling match with Dean pressing his lips to Cas’s neck and ears and collar and cheeks and Cas doing the same and—

Dean abruptly rolls off him, an odd look on his face.

Hesitant, Cas sits up.

“Is everything alright?”

Dean doesn’t answer for a moment, taking a cautious sniff of the air for some reason.

“Uh. I — yeah, I just — it — do you smell . . . something?”

Cas scents the air, then freezes.

“What kind of something?” he asks, struggling to keep any nervousness from seeping into his scent and giving him away.

“Like — kind of — fresh? And . . . sweet? Almost like fruit, but — there's something else . . .”

It’s true that, overall, it’s a little more difficult to smell oneself than someone else, but strong scents and abrupt changes often come through.

This scent is not strong, not yet, but it was somewhat abrupt, and Cas recognizes it where Dean wouldn’t be able to.

This is what his scent does — albeit much stronger — when Cas has to go stay in the infirmary for his heat.

He’s also noticed it sometimes, first thing in the morning, after particularly vivid dreams and a morning situation that takes longer than usual to settle.

Apparently, it is _also _what his scent does when he thinks about doing certain things with Dean.

“Uh. Not really,” he manages, making a show of focusing and sniffing the air. “I don’t, um. I don’t smell anything.”

Dean frowns, sniffing again, cheeks a little red. He hesitates a moment, then leans into Cas’s space, frowning —

And then there’s a knock at the door.

“Breakfast,” someone calls, and Dean shakes his head.

“Come in.”

The door opens, and Layla appears, smile bright.

It falters a little as she steps into the room, nose twitching.

“Oh — sorry if I’m interrupting—”

“Nah, we’re awake. Just goofin’ off,” Dean assures her, smiling. He turns to Cas. “You wanna eat in bed or at the table?”

“Bed,” Cas says quickly. He can count on one hand the number of times they’ve had breakfast in bed, and he’s not about to pass up an opportunity.

Layla waves her hand when Dean tries to get up, carefully setting the tray down between them.

She straightens, smiling at Cas.

“Happy birthday, sweetie,” she tells him, reaching out to touch his cheek. “I’m glad you’re here.”

Cas shakes her hand off, scrambling forward to give her a clumsy hug.

“Thank you, Layla. I’m glad to be here.”

Layla laughs and returns the embrace.

“Don’t have too much fun today, alright? And eat your _entire _breakfast, please. Sam even helped me prepare the salad, since he’s worried what Dean will feed you tonight.”

“_Salad?_ ” Dean sounds appalled. “What the _fuck, _Sa—”

“Why would Dean be feeding me tonight?” Cas asks, pulling back, and Layla winks.

“Ask him. We look forward to seeing you later. Enjoy your breakfast.”

Layla waves and leaves the room, and once the door has shut, Cas turns back to find Dean studying him, lips pursed.

“How come Layla gets a hug when she wishes you happy birthday and I don’t?”

Cas blinks.

“You’d just woken up,” he says, although honestly, Cas is still wary of instigating touches, especially since Dean does it so often on his own. The risks of misstepping seem too great.

“Well, I’m awake now,” he points out, raising a brow, and Cas is surprised.

“But there’s food.”

Dean looks offended.

“Well, okay, then. If you’d rather eat**—**”

“No, that’s not—”

“Then you can start with the salad.”

Cas snaps his jaw shut. First of all, it’s ridiculous that Dean imagines everyone besides Sam shares his aversion to lettuce, and second of all, Cas assumed _Dean _would prioritize food above most things.

“Thank you, I will,” he mutters, reaching for a salad plate. “It looks delicious.”

Dean narrows his eyes, then turns to the tray.

“Fuckin’ Sam,” he grumbles. “I didn’t order half of this stuff.”

He subjects an apple wedge to a distrustful poke, and his expression melts into something thoughtful before he leans down to sniff it.

“Ah,” he says to himself.

“What?”

“Apples. And they’re next to the salad,” Dean explains, like it’s supposed to mean something.

“What?” Cas says again.

“The smell. The — crisp, fruity one.”

“Oh.” Cas blinks. “_Oh. _Yes, that — uh. That makes sense. I’m sure that was it.”

He leans forward, sniffing the plate.

“Yes, that’s it.”

Dean gives him a weird look.

“I thought you couldn’t smell it?”

“Uh — yes — I mean — no, I couldn’t, but that — smells like you described.”

Dean nods slowly.

“Okay. Well.” He shrugs. “Let’s eat, then.”

Cas’s discomfort fades after a moment, and finally, he remembers to ask.

“Why are you feeding me tonight? Won’t we have dinner with everyone else in the Hall?”

Dean pauses.

“Uh. Actually, I thought — maybe we’d go into town, today.”

“Town?”

“Yeah. It occurred to me — you’ve probably never been, right? And hey, you’re old enough now I don’t have to worry about you wandering off or getting carried away by a hawk.”

“How big do you think a hawk _is, _Dean?”

“I dunno, but I _do _ know how small _you _used to be.”

He gives Cas an expectant grin, like that’s supposed to be _ funny. _

“And what are we going to do in town?” Cas grits out, and Dean shrugs.

“Walk around. Thought you’d like the market, you know. You can buy some shit to put in that wooden box I brought you from Purgaea.”

Cas perks up a little. Right now, he keeps all his letters from Dean and Anna there, but he likes the idea of it as some sort of small treasure box.

“What kind of ‘shit?’”

Dean snorts.

“Whatever you want. They sell all kinds of things; jewelry, small weapons, clothing — hell, you can buy vegetables and honey there.”

“Honey?”

“Don’t keep _ that _in your box,” Dean says hastily, and Cas rolls his eyes.

“Why on earth would I store _ honey _—”

“Fuck if I know, maybe you get hungry at night.”

Cas does, sometimes, but the idea of huddling in his bunk and spooning honey into his mouth without even toast to put it on is completely ridiculous_ , _and he thinks Dean knows it.

“_Anyway. _Does that mean we’re eating there?”

“Yeah. There’s some nice places in the upper town. But if you’d rather eat here —”

“No, I want to go. You’re right, I’ve never been. The only times I’ve been outside the gate are for training exercises or when I used to read with Sam.”

Dean looks uneasy.

“Well. That’s probably for the best. I don’t think it’ll be dangerous, but at least I’ll be there, tonight.”

Cas frowns.

“If I can defend myself from assassins when I’m fourteen, I think I’d be fine going into t—”

“_Assassin. _ As in _ singular. _And he was clearly lousy at his job, if he snuck up on you and everything and a little kid still managed to get the drop on him.”

Cas has a strong desire to hit Dean with something, and this time it is not accompanied by one to kiss him.

“You’re being an assbutt,” he says bluntly, and Dean looks startled.

“The hell? I’m just pointing out—”

“No, you’re being an _ ass__butt _ _ . _ And it’s not fair for you to use yourself as a standard of — of competency in combat. You and I _ both _know I’m better than most people.”

Dean opens his mouth, then shuts it, looking frustrated.

“Yeah, sure, but — the whole reason you got attacked in the first place is because you assumed you were safe. You read your book and didn’t worry about it.”

“I was _ fourteen_!”

Dean scrubs a hand down his face, annoyed.

“Yeah, man, I know — and now you’re _ nineteen _ and still missing the fucking point. If you go into town, I don’t _ want _ you to worry about it. I want you to run around the market and enjoy your dinner and what-the-fuck-ever and while you do it, I _ want _ you to assume you’re safe_, _and if I’m not with you, you can’t do that!”

Cas stares, open-mouthed.

Dean’s logic is, to put it franky, _ exhausting. _

“It’s _ town,_” he sputters. “My barrack-mates have gone, and they’re fine.”

“But odds are good nobody’s gonna attack them.”

“And the odds are good no one is going to attack _ me. _”

“You’re a _ Prince, _and from Eden, to boot, and not everybody is a fan! Who the hell knows who might see you parading around as an opportunity?”

“I can handle myself.”

“I’m trying to say you shouldn’t _ have _to.”

“And I’m trying to say it’s not your job to protect me.”

Dean’s jaw tightens.

“Except it kind of _ is._”

“Well, I don’t _ need _you to protect me. And I don’t want you to, either.”

For some reason, Dean looks like he’s been slapped.

He looks away, setting his plate down and getting out of the bed.

“Where are you going?” Cas asks, exasperated. You would think trying to unburden Dean of some responsibility would be _ welcome, _but Dean looks incredibly upset, although Cas can only see part of his face, since he’s so bent on not looking at him.

“Breakfast,” he says shortly, jerking on a pair of pants.

“We have breakfast.”

“Yep, enjoy yourself,” Dean mutters, and then he’s yanking the door open and disappearing down the hall, not even bothering to shut it behind him.

A cold draft rushes in, and Cas’s stomach sinks a little, breakfast in bed suddenly very unappetizing now that he’s alone.

He doesn’t understand Dean at _ all. _

Dean doesn’t really understand himself.

“When is Cas’s heat?” he asks Sam, without preamble, dropping into the chair beside him and reaching for a breakfast roll.

Sam stares at him like he’s grown two heads.

“Uh. Where is Cas?”

“Eating breakfast. When’s his heat?” Dean asks impatiently, because he needs to know.

Or rather, he needs Sam to confirm why the fuck Dean feels the way he does, because it doesn’t make a lick of sense _ unless _you put it in some crazy hormonal context, which would only be happening if Dean was trying to sync up with the bastard again.

Which is all kinds of terrifying (even if he doesn’t think about the last rut he had like that), because Dean’s never heard of someone having a rut six weeks apart, trying to sync or not, but he has no choice but to deal either way.

“Um. Well — he’s not totally regular yet, but probably December-ish.”

Dean nods, then scowls.

“Why the fuck do you know about Cas’s heats?”

Sam stares at him.

“Because we spend every day together?” Dean clenches his jaw, unreasonably annoyed by that logic. “I know when _ your _ruts happen, why wouldn’t I know about Cas’s?”

“Fine,” Dean says shortly, and scoops a bite of egg in his mouth. It makes him think of leaving Cas, warm and still sleep-sweet in their bed upstairs with the food Dean specially planned to have brought up for him, even if Sam stuck his stupid nose in those plans and sent up the stupid-smelling salad and apples with it all. Which is another sign that Dean’s rut _ must _be approaching; he managed to smell them before they were even in the room, and if he didn’t know any better, he would have said it had — well, it had kind of turned him on.

Which was just fucking _ weird, _especially since he was in the middle of playing a game with Cas.

A really nice game with Cas, who woke up happy and then gave Layla a fucking hug while Dean got a shit ton of attitude and some vehement words about — about not _ wanting _ Dean. Not _ needing _ him.

“Fuck,” Sam says, jerking back abruptly, and Dean feels so sick he wonders if he just threw up and Sam is trying to get out of the splash zone. “What the hell? Why do you _ smell _like that?”

“Like what?” Dean says hoarsely, setting his spoon down. There’s no puke on his plate, but his vision feels a little hazy and he’s not sure that isn’t about to change.

“Like — I don’t know! I’m taking you to Ellen,” he insists, scrambling out of his chair and gingerly tugging at Dean. Dean kind of wants to refuse, insist he’s a big boy and he can handle these shitty new rut symptoms on his own, but he’s feeling worse and worse by the second and it’s kind of scaring him.

Sam stashes him in one of the infirmary beds before he goes to get Ellen, and when Ellen comes in she looks so concerned Dean’s pretty sure Sam must have convinced her Dean was dying.

It’s not the worst he’s felt; he got shot with a poisonous arrow when he was eighteen and rounding up bandits in the border woods, and he had a ten day fever and nearly died. He feels comfortable saying that was way, way worse than this.

But this is still fucking awful.

“Sam says you’re sick. And you smell bad,” she adds, forcing a cup of tea on him. His stomach protests, but he drinks it anyway, hoping she knows what’s wrong with him and this’ll fix it.

Sam nods anxiously behind her.

“Like — like sulfur and old milk and _ despair. _”

“Thanks, Sammy,” Dean says dryly, but he’s starting to feel cold and his face is sweating and Cas is far away and alone in their room but hey, _he’s_ probably fine, because he doesn’t want Dean there, anyway.

Ellen recoils.

“What did you do?” she huffs, bustling over and putting a hand to his forehead. “It’s his birthday, for God’s sake. You’re supposed to be gettin’ ready to go into town.”

“Didn’t do anything,” Dean slurs, sliding further down beneath the blanket, shivering. Sam lunges forward and snatches his teacup before it can roll off the bed. “Fuck, I feel like shit.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet you do. Sam, go get Cas for me, would you?”

“No, don’t,” Dean protests, although the idea of Cas coming to see him seems really nice.

He probably won’t, though. Since, you know. He doesn’t want Dean.

“Why would I—” Sam starts, and then there’s a long silence. “Ohhhh. You think they—”

“Go get Cas,” Ellen repeats tiredly, and Dean is dimly aware of Sam leaving the room.

“He doesn’t want me,” Dean informs Ellen, because this terrible piece of information feels huge and overwhelming in his brain, even as he huddles pitifully beneath the blanket. “Said so himself.”

Ellen sighs.

“Bunch o’ drama queens, all of you. Just — go to sleep, Dean. We’ll sort you out.”

“Okay,” Dean says, and promptly blacks out.

Dean’s first thought, when he wakes, is that they’re gonna be late for the market.

His second thought is less a thought and more a whole-body sense of relief, because —

“Cas,” he blurts out, eyes flying open, and oh, thank _ God. _Cas is right there, lying on his side and watching Dean with worried blue eyes.

Dean frowns.

“Why aren’t you under the blanket?”

Cas blinks.

“You’re the one in the infirmary.”

“Yeah, and so are you,” he points out. “’S’cold out there.”

As soon as he says it, though, his stomach pitches, because Cas might get angry at him again, since he apparently doesn’t want Dean taking care of him —

“A little,” Cas says decisively, and then awkwardly scrambles under the blanket. He hesitates once he’s there, and then, to Dean’s surprise, scoots over.

“It’s actually _ very _cold,” he mumbles, maneuvering a stunned Dean’s hands out of his way so he can burrow up against him. He arranges them around himself once he’s settled, warm and solid and unbelievably comforting in scent, as sick as Dean is, and Dean doesn’t hesitate to tighten his arms.

He’s not sure where this intense sense of relief is coming from — he probably just had food poisoning, for God’s sake — but he and Cas basically had a — a _ fight, _earlier, and it’s just nice to know they’re not gonna spend Cas’s birthday not talking.

“Sorry I stormed out,” he mumbles, burying his face in Cas’s hair. Cas smells pretty fucking _ perfect, _right now, like some kind of magical anti-nausea-and-brain-fog device, and as shitty as Dean was feeling before Ellen knocked him out, he’s not above taking advantage.

“It’s alright. I didn’t realize you were sick. Sorry I — upset you?”

Cas says it like a question, and Dean frowns.

“Well, yeah. You said — all that.”

“All what?” Cas tries to pull back, to look at Dean, but Dean tightens his grip, weirdly anxious, and Cas relaxes back into him.

“That you — you know. You don’t want me lookin’ out for you.”

There’s a long silence.

“I don’t.”

A sudden wave of queasiness hits him, and Cas jerks in his arms.

“Dean, you — you smell _ awful. _What did Ellen say?”

“Just gave me somethin’ to knock me out,” he mumbles, throat thick. “I don’t know.”

Cas huffs, shifting his arms to hug Dean tightly.

“I’m so sorry, Dean.”

“Thought I smelled _ awful, _” Dean sniffs, and Cas squeezes him, a not-insignificant amount of pressure since Cas’s arms aren’t exactly anything to sneeze at.

“I don’t care how you smell,” he insists.

“You should.” Dean cares. He’s not sure why it’s so deeply disturbing to think of Cas finding his scent repulsive, but it definitely is.

Although, the fact that Cas seems hell-bent on snuggling, regardless of Dean’s apparently dreadful smell, is — well. It’s nice.

“Well, I don’t.” Cas pauses. “I don’t care about a lot of things. You — protecting me, or whatever, is one of them.”

“What does that even mean?”

He’s silent for a moment.

“It means I want you to spend my birthday with me. And all the other days.”

“And I’m _ going _to—”

“I don’t want you to spend them _ looking after me. _ I want you to spend them _ with me._”

Dean falls silent.

“I don’t . . . I don’t understand.”

“Dean, you’re my — my, um. My best friend.”

“I thought Sam was your best friend.”

“I — yes, he is, but — well, you’re my _ husband_. I’m sure there’s a separate category for, uh, best friendship.”

Dean snorts.

“You can have two best friends, Cas.”

“That’s not what the word ‘best’ means—”

“Cas.”

Cas sighs.

“Anyway. I just — when you’re with me, I want — I want you to think of me as your . . . friend. With whom you’re enjoying spending time. Not as a — a _ child, _who needs your protection.” He clears his throat. “And I want you to respect what I have achieved here. That I can protect myself. And — and maybe even you, sometimes.”

Dean’s first impulse is object — Cas shouldn’t have to worry about Dean, not if Dean is doing his job right — but he forces himself to listen, to think about what he’s trying to say.

“You are my friend,” he eventually says. “One of my best friends. Just because I’m — watching out for you, doesn’t mean I’m not having fun with you, too. And I do respect you — I know you’ve come a hell of a long way. But I don’t want you to have to worry about shit. I don’t want you have to worry about anything.”

“Well, I don’t want you to have to worry about anything, either.”

“But I like worrying about you.”

“That doesn’t make—”

“I _ mean, _I like feeling like there’s — there’s things I can do for you. To — to make you happier. You know. Take care of you.”

“And you think I don’t?” Cas asks quietly, and Dean frowns.

“You do things for me all the time.”

“I don’t do _ anything _for you, Dean. You won’t let me.”

Dean winces a little, thinking back to the incident with his rut.

“You do. All the time. You, uh. You make me really happy, Cas.”

There’s a weird burst of scent Dean’s not even going to try and pretend isn’t _ happy Cas, _and his stomach does some bizarre, gooey thing that has nothing to do with his mysterious illness.

“I — that’s good. I want to make you happy.”

Dean’s about to protest that Cas shouldn’t worry about it, but Cas continues.

“But I don’t see how I do anything. Until I become a knight, I don’t know what I _ can _do for you.”

“Cas, you _ do. _ You’re — well, you’re here, and you’re _ you. _That’s more than enough.”

Cas doesn’t answer for a moment, and when he pulls back this time, Dean lets him. Cas looks at his face, searching, and Dean looks back, willing him to understand.

“Oh.” The happy scent blooms, nearly overwhelming, and Dean’s nose tickles like it’s about to sneeze. Cas’s eyes are warm, and as the seconds pass, they turn strangely wistful.

He tilts his head and leans forward, brushing his cheek against Dean’s.

“Thank you, Dean,” he whispers, and Dean just nods, although he’s not sure anything is really resolved, because his brain suddenly feels a little foggy. “You make me very happy, as well. I’m glad I’m here.” Cas hesitates, tucking his face in Dean’s neck. “I love you.”

Dean blinks.

“Uh. Me, too,” he manages, and feels Cas’s fingers curl against his back.

A knock at the door shakes him out of his stupor.

Cas lifts his head.

“Come in,” he calls, and Dean tries to twist a little to look, although Cas’s head is mostly in the way.

“How’s he doing?” Ellen asks, coming in and setting her bag on the nightstand. Dean’s mostly getting ceiling and wall, but he’s pretty sure that’s Sam he hears shuffling next to her.

“Dean?” Cas asks, and then reluctantly pulls away completely, arms sliding free and leaving Dean a little cold in comparison.

“Uh.” He thinks about it. “Actually — I feel pretty good.”

“Fancy that,” Ellen mutters.

“What, uh, what was wrong with me?”

“Just a . . . bug. Seen it a few times recently,” she says vaguely.

Sam coughs.

“Yeah. But, Ellen, it wasn’t this bad with, um, with the other person who got it. Why not?”

“Well, _ Sam_, that’s because this kinda bug hits mature adults harder. That other person wasn’t done growing.”

“Oh.”

“That, and it’s rougher on alphas. Who the hell knows why.”

“Huh. I didn’t know that.”

Dean reluctantly wriggles into an upright position against the pillows.

“So — am I better now, or what?”

Ellen shrugs.

“Probably. You could get it again, but we’ll figure it out if it happens. For now, I think the two o’ you can still make it to town if you hurry.”

Cas flops on his back, looking up at Dean, and Dean finger-combs his hair back from his face.

“You still wanna go?”

Cas shrugs, watching him.

“If you do.”

“Well, yeah. You’ve never been. Be cool to show you.”

“Alright. If you’re up to it.”

Dean nods.

“Yeah.” He grins. “Gotta get some honey we can put in your box, don’t we?”

Sam makes a funny noise, and Ellen snorts.

“Something like that,” Cas says dryly, then climbs over Dean to get out of the bed, offering him a hand. “Let’s go get ready, then.”

Dean takes it, letting Cas help him out of bed, although he feels surprisingly fine and he doesn’t need it.

It’s worth it for the small smile Cas gives him when he does.

“Dean, do bees eat lavender?” Cas asks.

Dean has no idea what the fuck bees eat, so he squints at the jar Cas is holding, hoping the little card tied around the top will tell him.

_ Cain’s Happy Honeybees Lavender Honey. _

There’s an ink and watercolor sketch of a purple striped bee beneath it, but no other information is forthcoming, and Dean opens his mouth, still not sure if he’s going to bullshit the kid or admit he has no idea.

“We infuse the honey,” the vendor interjects, drifting toward them with a warm smile. “The bees help pollinate the lavender, however.”

Cas nods.

“What does lavender taste like?”

Cain chuckles softly.

“Like lavender.” He gestures to the jar. “Try it and find out. Consider it a gift, of course.”

Dean sighs. This is not the first time today _ that’s _happened.

“That’s not necessary, I can—”

“Please, your highness,” Cain interrupts, eyes twinkling. “It’s my pleasure. To the best of my knowledge, Prince Castiel has never been to the market. We’re all delighted to finally see him.”

“I’m delighted to see all of you, as well,” Cas says, earnest, and Cain shakes his head.

“Oh, but I doubt tales of _ my _beauty are a popular castle topic.”

It takes them both a moment, and then Cas reddens a little.

“I — oh. I — uh. Thank — thank you.”

Dean frowns heavily, because this isn’t the first time today somebody’s made some little remark about Cas’s looks, and if he’s understanding right, Cain’s sayin’ this is something people _ gossip _about.

“What’s this now?”

Cain raises a brow.

“Respectful tales, of course.”

Dean gets the sense Cain is mocking him, and he doesn’t like it one bit.

He sniffs.

“Okay. Lavender honey, awesome. Ready to go, Cas?”

“No. This one’s _ elderflower._”

“Alright, let’s buy that one, then.”

“I’m happy to deliver to the castle,” Cain offers, and Dean nods shortly.

“Please do. Are you re—”

“Is this jelly?” Cas interrupts, holding up a jar full of dark red something-or-other, presumably containing honey, and Cain nods. “Good. Jam is . . . unnatural.”

“Quite,” Cain agrees solemnly, and Dean scowls.

“This ain’t all gonna fit in the box.”

Cas rolls his eyes.

“We discussed this, Dean. I’m not keeping it in the box.”

“Yeah, yeah. _ Now _are you—”

“What is ‘saffron’?” Cas squints. “Goodness, it’s dear.”

“It’s a pain in the ass to harvest. Add that to the order, if you don’t mind,” he says to Cain.

“Of course.” Again, Dean gets the impression the dude is _ laughing _at him.

Whatever. So long as Cas is happy.

“Alright. I think I’m ready.”

“You _ think _—”

“Shut up, Dean,” Cas says pleasantly, and smiles at Cain. “Thank you. I look forward to trying them all.”

“I hope they meet expectation. Enjoy your day at the market,” Cain tells him kindly, and Cas beams back.

It’s then that Dean notices a few other vendors smiling at the sight, and he resists the temptation to throw an arm around Cas’s shoulders and steer him away. His dorky, half-gums smile _ is _a little contagious. Dean can’t really blame them.

“You hungry, yet?”

Cas shrugs.

“Soon. Oh — what’s that—”

Cas strides purposefully toward a — flower vendor? - and Dean trudges after him. There’s no way in hell this will all fit under his bed at the barracks, and Dean doesn’t kid himself that Cas’ll be willing to store it in his own room.

Nope, all the shit Cas bought today is going to have to find a home in _ Dean’s _room, and he’s already thinking about asking Cesar to carve a large wooden trunk for Cas for Christmas.

No impulse control, Dean thinks, shaking his head as Cas picks up a quill covered in flowers. This is what happens when you only go shopping once a decade. As much as Dean hates the idea of Cas leaving the castle grounds without him, he’s kicking himself a little for not taking him out sooner.

“Dean, they’re _ silk, _” Cas informs him, and Dean musters a smile.

“That’s really cool, Cas.”

“Ingenious,” he breathes, lightly touching the petals of an admittedly impressive-looking rose. “They look real.”

The vendor lights up.

“Thank you. It’s an _ honor _ to meet you. The rumors don’t do you justice.” Every fucking time, Dean thinks grumpily. “Please, allow me to make a gift of this quill.”

Cas hesitates.

“I had it in mind as a gift for my sister, in Eden. It would be rude of me to re-gift it.”

“Not at _ all, _” she says emphatically. “That you think it’s worthy of gifting is a wonderful compliment. I insist,” she adds, and Cas gives her this heart-meltingly bashful smile, even though this is like the tenth time this has happened today and he has plenty of sass to offer Dean in between.

“Then I thank you.”

She sets to boxing it, humming.

“This is beautiful,” Cas murmurs, picking up a flowered comb and showing it to Dean.

“You want that for your sister, too?”

“Maybe I should, but I want it for myself.” He gently fingers the vivid blue hydrangeas, sighing. “The dyes are incredible.”

Dean sees the vendor grin out of the corner of his eye.

“Isn’t it kinda girly?”

Cas tilts his head.

“Girly?”

“Yeah. I mean, they’re flowers. In your _ hair. _You don’t even have long hair.”

Dean is uncomfortably aware of the vendor scowling at him.

Cas frowns.

“In Eden, omegas wore flowers all the time. I wore some to our wedding.”

Dean has no memory of this, but then, the only kind of flower he was preoccupied then was the metaphorical kind, and how he might get out of having to pick it.

He makes a face, and Cas looks hurt.

“If you don’t think they look nice on me—”

There’s an outraged huff from Dean’s right, and he grits his teeth.

“No — that’s not it—“ he starts hastily, ducking his head. “Sorry. It’s just — our wedding’s a bad memory, obviously.”

Cas jerks back, visibly upset.

“A bad memory?”

“Uh. Um. Yeah, but—”

“Do you regret marrying me?” he demands, setting the comb down and searching Dean’s face with mildly anguished eyes.

“Of _ course _not, it’s just — at the time — I was — I didn’t know you’d be so — and then I thought I had to—”

Dean’s tripping over his words, but the thing is, Cas is still living in an innocent, magical bubble where he thinks people test each other’s battle potential on their wedding nights. He doesn’t know what was _ supposed _to happen.

“Look,” he grits out. “Can we — can we talk about this at dinner?”

_ When the vendor’s not eavesdropping and judging me. _

Cas purses his lips and turns away, picking up the comb.

“Fine,” he mumbles, and _ for the love of God. _

Dean huffs and snatches the comb out of his hand, reaching out and tucking it behind Cas’s ear.

He looks ridiculous, the big blue and white flowers making up an arrangement a third the size of his head, but even Dean has to admit that they don’t look that weird. If anything, they kind of bring out his eyes, and how nice his skin is, and the fact that Cas’s jaw looks like it could cut glass somehow makes the flowers look better instead of worse.

“There,” he declares awkwardly. “You look, uh. Nice.”

“He looks beautiful,” the vendor snaps, glowering at Dean likes he’s some lowly street thug instead of her crown prince.

“What she said,” he mutters, and because it’s kind of true, grudgingly adds, “Beautiful.”

Cas looks down, carefully pulling the comb out of his hair.

“It’s fine. If you don’t like me in flowers—”

“It’s not about what I like,” Dean protests, exasperated, but Cas doesn’t look at him.

“Yes, well, _I_ don’t like to look ugly.”

Dean pinches the bridge of his nose, breathing out through his mouth. How did they even _ get _here?

“You don’t look ugly,” he says carefully. “You couldn’t look ugly if you tried.”

Cas _ still _doesn’t look at him.

“It’s fine, Dean,” he says, and it is _ clearly _not fine.

“Look, I haven’t seen dudes in flowers, so I assumed it wouldn’t look good. But the lady’s right. You looked, uh, real nice, Cas. I liked it.”

Cas sighs.

“You don’t have to humor me.”

“I’m not—” Dean cuts off, grabbing the comb and sticking it back in Cas’s hair. “We’re buying the damn comb, Cas. You better wear it.”

Cas hesitates, reaching up to touch the comb, and scrutinizes Dean’s face.

“You really like it?” he prompts, and Dean nods vigorously.

“Looks fuckin’ fantastic,” he assures him, and it’s not really a lie. “It, uh. It brings out your eyes. You — you got, uh, great eyes.”

The unhappy look fades, replaced by a shy sort of wonder that makes Dean feel like an utter piece of shit.

“Oh. Do you think so?”

“I know so,” he insists, and Cas smiles.

“I think your eyes are beautiful, too,” he says, and reaches for a crown of pink and white carnations, gently setting them on Dean’s head before Dean can protest.

Cas looks at his handiwork, and then lets out a happy sigh.

“You’re lovely, Dean. I don’t know why boys or alphas wouldn’t wear flowers. It seems like a stupid rule.”

Dean is silent for a long, long moment, and then he sighs, pulling out his coin purse.

“We’ll take ‘em both,” he mutters, and the vendor grins.

“_Absolutely_, your highness.”

“Fun fact,” Dean announces, once they finally make it to the restaurant and he’s pretty sure he’ll need to commission _ two _trunks for all the shit Cas picked up. “Benny’s mom runs this restaurant.”

Cas looks around, as if he’ll be able to tell who she is just by looking.

“Really?”

“Yep. Layla’s not as big on seafood, since it can get tricky this far inland, but Dame Lafitte made a deal with Rowena a long time ago for a preservative so it all keeps.”

“Why doesn’t Layla use it?”

Dean shrugs.

“Doesn’t trust alchemy. Lot o’ people don’t, though.”

“I see.”

Dean leads him to a table, and a few minutes later, a blue-haired girl shows up and asks them what they’d want.

“Why is your hair blue?” Cas asks, before Dean can respond, and she shrugs.

“Some kind of cream from Rowena the alchemist. You leave it on for like, thirty minutes, and then you rinse it off.”

“It’s very pretty,” Cas offers, and she cracks a smile.

“Thanks. I like your flowers,” she says. “Both of you. Flowers are cool. I don’t know why more boys don’t wear them.”

Cas gives Dean a pointed look, and Dean swallows.

“Who knows,” he mutters. Cas smiles.

“Rowena’s very nice,” he says, and blue-haired-girl nods vigorously.

“I think so.”

Personally, Dean thinks Rowena is powered by personal amusement, but he wisely keeps his mouth shut.

Although . . .

“You go up to the castle a lot?”

She looks down, smiling faintly.

“Um. Yeah. I guess? I’m . . . friends? With one of the knights.”

Dean straightens.

“Dame Lafitte’s son?” he clarifies, and she looks surprised.

“Yeah. Do you . . . know him?”

“Ha!” he crows. “Suck it, Chuckles!”

Cas squints at Dean, and then turns back to the girl.

“Dean and Benny are very good friends.”

She blinks, and then her mouth drops open.

“Oh. Like — Dean as in — Prince Dean?”

“Yes.”

“Oh. So — so you must be Prince Castiel?”

“I am.”

“Wow. Sorry, I — wow. Your kids are going to be like, crazy beautiful.”

Dean blinks, and she colors.

“Shit. That was weird, wasn’t it? Sorry. I don’t know why I — sorry. Um. What can I get you?” she says quickly.

Cas looks at him expectantly, although Dean’s still tripping over the beautiful kids comment.

“Uhhh.” He clears his throat. “Couple plates of Jambalaya?”

“Definitely. I guess — I’ll get you guys something to drink. Be right back.”

She returns less than a minute later with tankards of beer, which Cas sniffs and then makes a face at.

“Dean, this smells like—”

“Just drink it, Cas.”

Cas frowns, and jesus, did he learn that bitch face from _ Sam_?

“I think I’ll ask for water.”

Dean rolls his eyes, dragging Cas’s tankard towards himself.

“More for me, then,” he says, although he’s already decided not to drink both. He wants to be alert, in case anyone decides to cause trouble.

As soon as Cas drinks about a third of his water, he sets it down and fixes Dean with a worried look.

“Why is our wedding a bad memory?”

Dean blinks.

“I mean. You know. Isn’t it a bad memory for _ you_?”

Cas shakes his head.

“Marrying you was the best thing that ever happened to me,” he says bluntly, and wow, okay. Dean has no idea what to do with that. “I admit, I was apprehensive before, but you told me I could be a knight when everyone had been telling me for months that I couldn’t do that anymore. I was delighted.”

Dean nods dumbly.

“Oh.”

“But — why was it bad for you?”

Dean scratches the back of his neck.

“I — I mean. It was. I wasn’t . . .” he trails off, not sure how to explain in a way that’s appropriate for someone of Cas’s naivete.

“Were you . . . disappointed? When you met me?” Cas asks, and although his expression is carefully neutral, his voice wavers a little.

“No. No, it’s — I wasn’t _ disappointed, _I just — look. I was expecting somebody twice your age. But you were just — a little kid. You didn’t have a choice. It, uh. It made me sick.”

“You didn’t have a choice, either,” Cas points out, and Dean shakes his head.

“I always knew I’d get married for the kingdom. It was tough, when I was younger, but by the time we got married, I’d made my peace with it. You, though . . . no offense, man, but you had no fuckin’ clue what was happening.”

Cas hesitates, and Dean takes the opportunity to to gulp down some of his beer.

“Are you referring to the sex?”

Dean chokes.

“Wha—_what_?” he gasps, wiping beer off his chin. “The — the — _ what? _”

Cas shrugs, studying Dean.

“We were supposed to have sex on our wedding night.”

Which — yeah, Dean was certainly aware of that, but —

“Who the fuck told you?”

Cas tilts his head.

“Jo. I don’t like to use the heat aids, and she asked if I was afraid because of my experience then. I was confused, and — well. She explained.”

First of all, that is — _ way _too much information, and second of all —

“Fuckin’ Jo,” he grumbles. “God. Look, whatever we were supposed to do, or not do — don’t worry about it, okay?”

“I don’t.” Cas pauses, then adds softly, “Thank you, by the way.”

“Yeah, no, don’t thank me,” Dean mutters. “I did it as much for me as I did for you.”

“Still,” Cas says, and Dean shrugs.

They’re quiet for a long moment, Dean trying to fit — all of _ this — _into his new worldview, and then Cas speaks.

“Would you, now?”

“Uh. What?”

“Or if I’d been nineteen then,” Cas continues, like Dean hadn’t spoken. “Would you have done it?”

“What?” There’s no way in hell Dean would take Cas to bed now, knowing what he knows, but . . . “I — I mean. I — probably?”

Not that it has any bearing or relevance on the here and now.

Still, Cas nods.

“But you don’t want me helping with your rut.”

Dean blanches.

“I — jesus, Cas. First of all, a — a rut is different than perfunctory, goin’-through-the-motions sex for the sake of a political arrangement. The second thing is _ one time, _the other thing is three days of — uh. Stuff.”

Cas studies him.

“Knotting.”

Dean gulps.

“Right. Okay. The talk Ellen gave you was really thorough, wasn’t it?”

“Well, yes, although Meg told me. When you’re in rut, you just want a place to ‘stick it,’” he explains, air-quoting, and Dean suddenly wishes he’d stayed in the infirmary today.

“_Dude,_” he hisses, although mostly he wants to find Meg and _ throttle _her, but Cas isn’t finished.

“To be honest, Dean, I’m not sure, given the intensive training I do, that I’d be able to accommodate your knot. But I was willing to try. _ Am _willing to try,” Cas amends, looking at him intently, and the scant part of Dean’s brain that is still online wonders if it’s having some kind of vivid nightmare.

“I don’t want to _ knot you,_” he sputters, just as a server passes by. He gives Dean a really weird look and then keeps walking, though Cas doesn’t seem to notice.

Cas looks down.

“But you would. If we were getting married now.”

“Because I know fuck-all about Eden and I’d _ wrongly _assume you were ready for that!”

“I am ready for that,” Cas mumbles, and Dean clutches the handle of his tankard like it has the potential to teleport him away from this situation. He thought he’d fixed this, this — this weird internal pressure Cas feels to do weird shit to earn his keep or whatever fucked-up thing Michael convinced him of.

“I — Cas, you — I — but — and -” Dean takes a deep breath. “Actually, you know what? You just said you don’t use the — the _ heat aids. _ You have no fucking clue what any of this means, and because I _ know _that about you, I would never ask you to do that.”

Cas opens his mouth, looking irritated, and then freezes.

And _ then, _ for some _ bizarre _reason, his mouth quirks, eyes light.

“Alright,” he says abruptly, and before Dean can ask what the fuck _ that _is about, he turns to the side, and there’s the blue-haired girl, plates in hand.

Dean, of course, barely tastes his meal.

Cas joins everyone in the Hall for dessert, and when Sam asks how his day was, he answers truthfully:

“_Perfect_.”

He has boxes’ worth of treasures collected from the market — what a _ wonderful _place; he wishes he’d known about it sooner — and although he’s a little concerned about where he’ll put them all, he’s mostly just ecstatic.

Because today, he found out there’s something he can _ do. _

Because today, it became more clear than ever that Dean overestimates Cas’s naivete. Today_, _Dean openly acknowledged his reservations about accepting Cas’s help with his rut.

_ Today, _ Cas learned that Dean isn’t _ repulsed _ by him. He doesn’t even think Cas is too _ young. _

He thinks Cas doesn’t _ know _enough.

And then he told Cas exactly how to fix that.

For once in his life, Cas is strangely eager for his heat to arrive.

A part of him is still afraid, certainly, because the logistics seem . . . complicated, but he can try.

And if it works — then not only will Cas be able to reassure Dean as to _ that, _but Dean will know that Cas knows, relatively firsthand, what helping with his rut signifies.

He’ll let Cas _ help. _

Cas eats three helpings of dessert, giddy with the thought of availing himself to Dean in his time of need. He’s eager to be useful, of course, but there is a small part of him that, past accustoming himself to the anxiety associated with trying this, is looking forward to doing that with Dean, for selfish reasons.

It’s just — they’ll be very _ close, _won’t they? More and more, Cas just wants to be close to Dean.

Beside him, Dean quirks a brow, propping his chin in one hand.

“What’re you smilin’ about?”

“Nothing,” Cas says quickly. “Just — I had a wonderful birthday, Dean. Thank you.”

Dean shrugs.

“Sorry it got off to a bad start.”

“You were sick.” Though he was deeply concerned when Sam came and told him Dean had gone to the infirmary, and might like a visit, in case he couldn’t go out with Cas, after all. “You couldn’t help yourself.”

“Still. Wanted to make it special.”

“It was very special. I’ve never done anything like that.”

Dean nods, satisfied.

“And hey,” he points out, much louder. “Now we know who Benny’s mating.”

Across the table, Benny chokes on a honeycake, and Charlie stares.

“What?”

“Little blue-haired thing at your mom’s restaurant. Sweet girl,” Dean adds, cheeky, and Benny pales.

“How in the hell—”

“Wait, _ what_?” Charlie interjects, and Dean turns smug eyes on her.

“Uh-huh. ‘It’s not Benny,’ my ass.”

Benny turns to her, betrayed.

“Red,” he says, with feeling. “How couldja? How’d ya even know?”

“I — I _ didn’t, _I swear, I didn’t know, and I didn’t tell him—”

“She didn’t,” Dean says kindly. “Or rather, she knew, she just didn’t tell me. But I guessed, because I’m _ awesome._”

“I can’t believe this,” Charlie mutters, and Dean chortles.

“So, when’s the wedding?” he drawls. “Did her parents say it was okay?”

“Oh, come on, brother,” Benny groans. “Evie’s our age.”

“Sure she is,” Dean smirks.

Benny narrows his eyes.

“She is. After all,” he says slowly. “It ain’t like I’d be marryin’ a thirteen-year-old, or anything.”

Dean freezes, and then his face reddens.

“That was low,” he grits out. “And you _ know _—”

“And _ you _know she doesn’t need to be askin’ her parents’ permission,” Benny retorts.

Dean sniffs.

“I guess this explains how you’ve been in training.”

“Whaddya mean, how I’ve been in training?”

“Oh, don’t even get me started,” Dean says gleefully, and although one might say things devolve from that point, Cas suspects they’re both enjoying themselves more than they let on.

Once the dessert has been reduced to crumbs and sticky berry dribbles at the bottom of pie dishes, Cas collects a number of birthday wishes and hugs, and then Dean ushers him up the stairs to their room.

_ Dean’s _room, that is, although the neat pile of things Cas purchased at the market today is taking up a startling amount of space in it.

“Jesus,” Dean mutters, sidestepping it and heading for the bathroom. Cas follows, pausing to admire the array of trinkets, though many of them are still in boxes.

“Do you remember what kind of box the bath salts are in?”

“The kind of box that’s on the bathroom counter,” Dean calls back, and Cas eagerly rushes in, shrugging out of his jacket as he goes.

“Would you like some, Dean?”

“Eh, why not?” he agrees, and then strips off his tunic. He’s facing away, so Cas doesn’t bother trying not to look, admiring the way Dean's shoulder muscles pinch together and then ripple, loose and easy, as his arms come back down.

“Cherry or chamomile?”

“Dude, seriously?”

Cas obligingly brings the cherry container to Dean’s bath, carefully dumping a little in. Certainly, there’s no reason for Cas to watch Dean take off the _ rest _ of his clothes — although, Dean’s entire body is very fit, and as a would-be-knight, Cas finds it . . . inspiring_. _

For his own bath, he pours in the soothing chamomile salts, then strips down and climbs in, relaxing with a sigh.

“Long day?” Dean teases.

“Quiet,” Cas tells him sternly, and gets a low chuckle for his troubles.

Dean soaks with him in silence for about ten minutes before faint splashing tells Cas he’s started properly bathing.

Cas lingers a little longer, and there’s a pause.

“Don’t fall asleep.”

“I won’t.”

“Seriously, don’t. People drown in bathtubs.”

“I’m not going to drown.”

“You don’t _ know _that—”

“_You’re _ here, and I don’t believe you’d let me drown,” Cas clarifies, and there’s a long silence.

“What happened to not wanting me protecting you?”

Cas finally opens his eyes, glancing over at Dean with an arch look.

“I’d like to think you’d prevent any one of your friends from drowning, if you could.”

“Yeah, okay, fair.” Dean looks contemplative. “What if we both fell asleep, though?”

“If I thought _ you _were falling asleep, I would make sure I didn’t.”

“How would you know, though?”

Cas huffs.

“A silence lasting longer than _three_ _minutes_ would happen.”

“Hey, I can last longer than three minutes,” Dean protests, and then makes a weird noise. “Uh. I mean — I didn’t mean — actually, that, too, but — uh.”

Cas waits, but there’s no further explanation before Dean clears his throat.

“So, uh, anyway. I’m ready to get out. You gonna . . . hang out here?”

Cas nods.

“The chamomile smells very nice.”

“It smells like plant.”

“Cherries come from plants, Dean.”

“Yeah, but cherries are _ food. _”

“Which comes from plants.”

“Fuckin’ heathen,” Dean mutters, and then stands, water sluicing back down his skin and into the tub.

Cas closes his eyes and settles further into the water.

He can’t quite hold back a smile, though.

One minute, Dean’s falling asleep, listening to Cas finally start splashing around in his almost definitely lukewarm bath, and the next, a small noise is waking him up.

Normally, Dean would be all daggers out at any unexpected noise rousing him from sleep, but for some reason, this one doesn’t cause any alarm bells.

Instead, his groggy brain, still sunk partially in sleep, registers it as _ good. _

In fact, Dean’s brain is registering a lot of things as _ good, _ and when another soft sound comes from somewhere in front of his chin, he lets out an approving rumble, rocking into the solid wall of heat in his arms. Some delicious scent blossoms in response, fresh and dewy and just-the-right-amount-of-sweet, so Dean does it again, earning a sigh as the heat wriggles back against him — and yeah, that all seems _ good, _too. More than.

But wait, a sliver of a thought protests weakly. Dean doesn’t remember taking anyone back to his room. Cas was supposed to stay in here last night.

How, then, is this happening?

Dean reluctantly opens his eyes, and his vision is promptly filled with the messy, dark-haired back of someone’s head.

Strange. If Dean didn’t know any better, he’d say that was _ Cas’s _hair.

In fact, it even smells a little bit like Cas, except that potent, tantalizing quality Dean was enjoying a second ago isn’t quite right. Cas doesn’t usually smell like that.

That dark-haired head leans back, exposing an undeniably appealing expanse of throat, along with —

Fuck, fuck, _ fuck. _

Dean just barely doesn’t fall out of the bed trying to get away, and Cas makes a disgruntled sound, rolling over with a huff.

Dean just flinches away, horrified.

What the hell was he _ doing_?

Even as he asks himself, he knows the answer. Molesting Cas in his sleep is what he was doing, and the only upside to how sick Dean feels now is the fact that his morning wood is fading fast.

And the morning wood is one thing; it happens to everybody — even Cas, presumably, though that’s one of the last things Dean wants to think about — and it’s not a big deal.

Rubbing said morning wood up against your — your _innocent_ _young __charge’s_ ass, however, _is _a big deal.

It’s a _ huge _ fucking deal, and Dean has no idea what to do. How could he? This has _ never _happened before, and it never even occurred to Dean that it might.

Unless —

His stomach lurches.

_Has _it happened before? Is this why Cas broached the whole rut subject again yesterday? Cas is always awake before him, after all; has he been forced to endure Dean’s unconscious attentions, on a regular basis, even, and determined from _that _that Dean wanted something from him?

Dean stumbles out of bed and dresses as quietly as possible, thoughts racing with all the horrifying possibilities of what he might have done — might have _been _doing_ — _to Cas, for God knows how long.

Because Cas is nineteen now, so he probably understands that early morning boners just, you know, _happen_ sometimes, but boner _contact _is a whole different story and who the hell knows how many _times _it’s happened, and since when? Dean’s old enough that he doesn’t really worry about waking up to a mess in his pants anymore, and Cas usually goes to sleep on his own side of the bed, so Dean doesn’t really even give it much thought, but — but —

But what if the reason Cas is always awake before him is because _ Dean wakes him up_?

Surely he wouldn’t keep sleeping in the castle, if that were the case? Except — except lately, Dean’s been trying to do the reassuring thing, so he’s actually been _ pushing _ for Cas to stay in the castle most nights, and holy _ shit, _maybe this is why Cas won’t let go of the rut thing.

Maybe this is a new problem. Maybe this is part of Dean’s weird sexual dysfunction, and ever since he got home, he’s been grinding up on poor Cas in the mornings, and since Dean keeps trying to get Cas to sleep in the castle in the first place, maybe Cas thinks that’s _ why. _That Dean’s trying to take advantage.

But — but Dean told him, didn’t he? He told Cas he didn’t want any of that, less than two months ago.

Of course, if Cas keeps waking up to Dean being way too fucking happy to see him, maybe he’s getting _ confused_.

Either way, Dean feels like the worst person ever, and to add to the giant pile of awful, he also knows he’s going to have to talk to Cas about it.

Which — _ how the hell is he supposed to talk about this_? With _ Cas_?

“Party too hard yesterday?” Charlie asks sympathetically, and Dean slumps in his chair.

“Something like that,” he mutters, and she pats his shoulder before serving herself three red-and-green pepper mini-omelettes and tucking in, clearly not concerned about vile and inappropriate advances she might unconsciously be making toward her pure, innocent best friends.

“Why didn’t you wait for me?”

Dean just about jumps out of his skin.

“Fuck,” he swears. “Shoulda got you a damn bell for your birthday.”

Cas takes a seat, turning to Dean with a vaguely unhappy look.

“Why didn’t you wait for me?” he says again, and Dean averts his gaze.

“Didn’t wanna wake you up.”

“But we always go to breakfast together.”

Dean shrugs.

“I was hungry.”

He gets an unimpressed look in return, so he picks up Cas’s plate and starts putting things on it, pretending not to notice.

Cas continues staring at him through the rest of breakfast, but Dean resolutely focuses on his food or whatever other conversations are being had, and the minute he’s done eating, he stands.

“Okay, well, I’m gonna head to the armory, get ready for training. See you guys later.”

He flees before anyone has a chance to respond.

Dean still has no idea what the hell he’s going to say to Cas, but Cas forces his hand by coming to the courtyard at lunchtime and settling against the building like he’s there to stay.

Which he probably is. Even from thirty yards, Dean can see his squinty, disgruntled I’m-going-to-talk-to-you-about-this face, and he doesn’t kid himself that he can put it off.

He calls for everyone’s lunch break, and then heads over to Cas, who quickly stands and opens his mouth.

“Let’s take a walk, Cas,” Dean says, and Cas’s mouth closes. After a moment, he nods, and the two of them head toward the orchard, where there are unlikely to be witnesses.

Although, given the shit Dean’s apparently been pulling — maybe it’s better if there _ are _witnesses.

“Are you upset with me?” Cas asks abruptly, and Dean startles.

“What? No! If anyone should be upset, it should be _ you _.”

“Why would I be upset with you? I had a wonderful time yesterday. And I was happy this morning, too, until I realized you’d left without me.” He pauses, looking down. “I was worried something had happened.”

“Well — well, actually. Uh. Kind of?”

Cas stops.

“What?”

“Look, I, uh. I wanted — we gotta talk about, uh, about — this thing.”

“What thing? Dean, what happened?”

“I — this morning, I — uh. There was a — a _ situation._”

Cas pales.

“You mean — oh. Oh, dear.”

Well, Dean consoles himself halfheartedly. At least Cas didn’t notice this morning. What a way to end your birthday — having your dear and trusted friend violate you in your sleep.

“Yeah. Yeah, it’s — it’s not good, obviously, and — I just — does that happen a lot?” Dean blurts out, and Cas flinches.

“No! No, it — not really — it — I’m _ so _ sorry, Dean, but it just _ does that, _ sometimes — uh, but not, uh, not _ often, _exactly — and, um, I — well, you’re usually up after me, and it goes away quickly, so I thought — I didn’t think I should mention it — but of course, it’s awkward, and I’m sorry I—”

Dean holds up a hand, brain stuttering, because he can fucking tell from the way Cas is talking that it probably happens pretty damn often, indeed, and he’d rather not hear anything more about how Cas apparently has had to monitor Dean’s morning erections to make sure they go down.

“Dude,” he coughs. “You — shit, you should have told me.”

Cas shrugs helplessly.

“I didn’t want you to stop letting me sleep in there.”

“Cas, I’m surprised you still even _ want _ to.”

Cas shrugs again.

“Well, they _ do _go away. People in the barracks wake up with them all the time, and we just — we ignore each other.”

“Yeah, well, you don’t share a _ bed _in the barracks. Or you’d better not be,” Dean adds, totally not thinking of Meg.

“Of course not,” Cas says, rubbing the back of his neck. “But — your bed is so large, Dean, is it really that different? It’s really — it’s more like, uh, two separate beds that happen to be next to each other. Isn’t it?”

He sounds weirdly hopeful, given that he’s the one who has to deal with Dean practically humping his leg in the morning, and suddenly, it clicks.

As shitty as it is to find out he has chronic, noticeable morning wood when sharing the bed with Cas, it’s nonetheless a gigantic relief to realize that, if he’s understanding Cas right, he actually _ doesn’t _usually rub up against him.

That this morning might just have been a fluke.

That Cas might not know what happened.

“Oh. I — I guess. I mean . . . when the, uh. When the, uh, the situation arises—” The twelve-year-old part of Dean’s brain starts giggling uncontrollably “— it’s not like we’re touching, right?”

Cas shakes his head vehemently.

“Not at all. I always wait for it to go down before I ever move closer to you,” he adds, eyes earnest, and Dean dies a little inside. He’s suspected for a long time that Cas gets bored waiting for Dean to wake up and watches him sleep, and knowing that what he’s _ actually _watching is Dean’s boner, until he deems it safe to get near him . . .

“Awesome,” he says weakly, and Cas smiles uncertainly.

“Uh. Please don’t — please don’t be uncomfortable. Ellen says it’s normal.”

“It — it is. Just as long as there’s no, um, uh, weird . . . touching.”

Cas shakes his head.

“No. And — it’ll happen less, as I get older.”

Dean nods along awkwardly, and then he stops, because wait a minute, no, that doesn’t really make sense and he definitely made a wrong turn somewhere—

“As far as I can tell, it never happens to _ you. _I’m sure, soon enough, I’ll hardly get erections in the morning at all.”

Dean blinks.

“Uh.”

“Please don’t make me sleep in the barracks,” Cas finishes, hesitating for a moment before reaching for Dean’s hand. “I, uh. I like sleeping with you. Much better than staying in the barracks.”

Dean is speechless for a very, very long time, trying to re-contextualize — well, the whole fucking day — and Cas’s grip on his hand slackens, face starting to fall.

“I like sleeping with you, too,” Dean blurts out, catching his hand and holding fast, because he sure as hell wasn’t trying to hurt Cas’s feelings, and now that he knows Cas thinks _ he’s _ the boner-culprit, Dean doesn’t want him feeling ashamed or anything, because that’s totally normal for a nineteen-year-old, and it’s not like it has anything to do with _ Dean. _

And Cas has no fucking clue what Dean did this morning, so as long as it doesn’t happen again . . .

“Alright.” Cas swallows. “I — I _ have _tried to stop it, Dean, but it doesn’t appear to be something within my control—”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. I know. Trust me, I know. I — actually, I — uh.” Dean pauses a moment, because his preference would be to let Cas believe it _ never _ happens to him, but Cas is clearly feeling really bad about all of this, and letting him think Dean brought him out here to take him to task for something that is _ definitely _ beyond his control would just be shitty. “To be honest, man, this morning, it — it, uh, it wasn’t _ you. _ It was _ me. _”

Cas blinks, and then he sucks in a breath.

“You had a morning situation? I mean, an erection?”

Dean makes a face.

“Yeah. It’s called ‘morning wood’ and actually, like you said, it just . . . happens. Bodies are weird.”

Cas nods quickly, eyes wide.

“_ Extremely, _ ” he agrees, and then tilts his head, studying Dean. “So . . . then — you were concerned you had made _ me _uncomfortable? This morning?”

“Well, yeah. I didn’t want you to think I was, uh. Tryin’ to, you know. Bother you. Or that — that I had done that. Before.”

Cas looks blank, staying quiet for long enough that Dean is increasingly convinced he has no idea what Dean’s talking about, when suddenly he lifts his chin.

“Dean,” he says, holding his gaze. “You don’t have to be in rut.”

Dean blinks.

“Uh. What? What do you — what do you mean, I don’t—”

“I mean I don’t mind helping you. With erections,” Cas clarifies. “Whether you’re in rut or not.”

And yeah, Dean’s brain pretty much shuts down, because it has no fucking clue what to do with that and apparently decides the safest thing is to not think about it at all.

It’s probably right.

After a moment, Cas turns away.

“We should head back,” he says quietly. “If we hurry, we might still have time for lunch.”

Dean just nods, and when Cas starts moving, he follows.

And maybe this means there’s _ another _talk in order, but for the most part, Dean thinks it might be better to just pretend none of this ever happened.

Dean is very quiet the rest of the day, but he doesn’t seem to be upset or avoiding Cas, the way he was at breakfast, and a part of Cas is a little hopeful that he’s considering Cas’s offer.

In light of that, when he follows Dean up to their — to Dean’s room, for their baths, he determines to make a few things clear.

“Dean,” he says, and Dean pauses in the doorway of the bathroom, surprised.

“Yeah? What’s up, buddy?”

“About what we talked about earlier,” he starts, and Dean straightens.

“Right. Yeah, no, we can totally forget about that.”

Cas frowns.

“Why would we do that?”

“It’s, uh. Well, it’s — you know. Awkward. Probably better to just — to, uh . . . not.”

“It wasn’t that awkward,” Cas protests. “Actually, I feel much better now.”

Dean nods slowly.

“Okay. Well — okay. That’s good. But, you know. Now that it’s resolved, we don’t really need to—”

“It’s not really resolved,” Cas interjects, a little frustrated. “I assume you’ve been considering my offer—”

“Uh, Cas, I really-”

“Wait. Before you do. I wanted you to know a few things.”

Dean swallows.

“Uh, I don’t — I mean, I think I know enou—”

“I understand your reluctance to penetrate me,” Cas says hastily — why on _ earth _does Dean insist on interrupting him? — and Dean’s mouth falls open. “Given that — well, it may not be possible, for one, but your issue primarily seems to be my lack of experience.”

“Uh, actually, Cas—”

“However,” Cas continues firmly. “I do masturbate during my heats.”

Dean’s eyes go wide.

“Cas—”

“As inconvenient as it is, I like to think I’m, uh. Reasonably accomplished.” Cas hopes this is true. It would be very embarrassing, indeed, to perform this service for Dean and find he’s actually not good at it at all. “I — well, technically speaking, I have a one-hundred-percent success rate.”

“_Dude, _” Dean sputters.

“Not that touching your penis would be inconvenient,” Cas hurries on nervously. “I didn’t — I see that that was implied, but I didn’t mean it that way.”

“Yeah, no, last thing I’m worried ab—”

“I would be _ honored _to touch your penis, Dean.”

Dean buries his face in his hands, clearly overwhelmed by Cas’s generosity.

Although, the more Cas has thought about it, the more touching Dean’s penis holds a reasonable amount of appeal. Assuming he really _ is _as adept at manual stimulation as he thinks, he thinks it would give him a sense of . . .

Accomplishment, perhaps.

“And it really _ wouldn’t _ be an inconvenience,” Cas adds, just in case Dean is still worried about that. A part of him is tempted to let Dean know he’ll be trying to remedy the _ other _problem the next time his heat comes around, but in the event that it goes poorly, it’s best not to get his hopes up. “In fact, I’ve given it a lot of thought—”

Dean makes a funny noise.

“And I’ve concluded that I’m actually the most, um, efficient choice. For helping you.” Cas clears his throat. “Especially if you get erections in the morning. I am, after all, right there, and I usually wake up before you, so—”

“Please stop,” Dean mumbles, muffled by his hands, and Cas deflates a little.

“Stop . . . what?”

“Talking.” Dean thrusts a hand into the air, waving it. “Saying — stuff.”

“I just wanted you to be able to make an informed decision,” Cas says, perhaps more defensively than necessary, but he _ has _been thinking about it, ever since he found out Dean’s reservations owed entirely to Cas’s inexperience, and he strongly feels that this makes the most sense for both of them.

Oh. Not that —

“I wouldn’t expect you to reciprocate,” Cas says, hoping that will allay Dean’s concerns. Obviously, it would be _ nice — _he thinks, anyway — but the last thing he wants is to generate more work for Dean.

Unfortunately, when Dean’s hand drops, he seems more horrified than anything else.

“Wouldn’t expect me to — jesus _ Christ, _Cas!”

Cas purses his lips.

“I don’t understand.”

“Then let me explain!” Dean says, gesturing emphatically at the air. “Look, I get that you’ve got — some weird ideas, about what I — what I’m looking for, but seriously, Cas, _ listen. _I really don’t—”

Dean doesn’t get to finish, a loud knock echoing through the room before he gets there.

“_What?” _ he calls, terse, and there’s a delicate sounding cough from the hall.

“His majesty requests your presence in the council room.”

“It’s almost ten o’ clock!”

“He says it’s urgent.”

Dean pinches the bridge of his nose.

“God _ damn _it.” When he lifts his head, he fixes Cas with a stern look. “You? I’m not done with you. Either tonight or tomorrow, we’re talkin’ about this and clearing things up once and for all, okay?”

Cas frowns.

“Okay.”

“I’ll be back as soon as I can. Take your bath,” he adds grumpily, and then heads for the door.

Cas hopes it’s nothing serious, but he’s eager to finish their conversation.

In the meantime, he gets his bath salts and tries to think of other ways to convince Dean that really, this is the best solution for all.

Perhaps he should offer to demonstrate?

“I’m a _ Prince,_” Dean sputters, forgetting himself, and John shrugs, tapping his quill against the table.

“You don’t act like one. Hell, maybe this’ll be good for you.”

“I — all due respect, sir—”

“Now _ that’s _ a lie.”

“— who sends their crown prince to live in another country for a year as an _ ambassador_? That doesn’t even make sense for _ Sam._”

“Yeah, well, when I give Sam an order, he follows it.”

First of all, that’s not even close to being true, and even if it were, it’d only be because John doesn’t generally bother giving Sam orders.

“I follow orders,” Dean grits out.

“Not all of ‘em, you don’t. Not even the most important ones.” He leans back in his chair, stare cold. “I think this’ll be good for you. Teach you a thing or two about diplomacy. Try not to start a war while you’re there.”

“So this is a punishment.”

“No, son. It’s a lesson. One you sorely need to learn.”

“I stand by my decision.”

“And you should stand by its consequences. You’re so damn eager to protect the boy from doing _ his _goddamn duty? Well, you got your wish, Dean. He certainly won’t be having any heirs if you’re half a continent away.”

And Dean should have been prepared for retaliation, and he thought he _ was, _but it didn’t occur to him that John would send him away.

Is it too fucking much to ask to just get to be _ home_? And if leaving Sam and Cas weren’t awful on its own , this time, Dean’s on his own. There’ll be no Charlie or Benny or Ash to goof around with. Nope, Dean has a year-long diplomatic sentence — sorry, _ mission — _ to Lettra as part of an ambassador exchange agreement to improve relations, and he’s not gonna see _ any _of them until it’s over.

As if Cas offering to give him morning handjobs wasn’t bad enough, now his Dad’s pulled pretty much the worst punishment Dean can think of, completely out of left field, and if Dean had a choice between that and a month in the dungeons, he’d take the fucking dungeons, even if they’re not nearly as nice as Anna’s tower.

“So I guess you’ve already finalized everything with Lettra.”

“Yep.” John watches him, face neutral.

“Which means I can’t back out.”

“Not unless you want an incident. They’re real excited to host you, son. Big show of trust, sending my eldest kid.”

“What if something happens to me?”

John considers this for a moment, and then shrugs.

“Guess that’s what Sam is for.”

“Are you kidding me?”

“You’ll be fine, Dean. You can handle yourself against some damn Lettrans, if they try anything. Though I doubt they will.” He turns back to the parchment on the table. “Some people take international relationships seriously. As more than blackmail to save their damn feelings, even.”

“Hey, that hurts _ no one, _and Cas deserves—”

“What?” John interrupts, mocking. “A childhood? Then you oughta be grateful, Dean. I’m givin’ him a whole ‘nother year of it.”

“Dad—”

“If you still have something to say once you’re there, son, write me a letter. You leave in the morning. The guard’s already packed.”

Dean’s stomach drops.

“Tomorrow _ morning — _but—”

“You’re dismissed, Dean.”

He nods his head, and one of his guards steps forward, prepared to see Dean out.

Dean jerks away.

“Fine. Have it your way.”

John’s lips quirk.

“Yes, well, I am King. I expect to.”

Dean’s not amused, and he stalks out of the room without a backward glance.

What the hell is he gonna tell Cas?


	11. Part XI

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: none, I think, though there are a couple things I want to clarify; please have a look at the end notes, if you'd like.

Cas isn’t sure what King John could possibly need to talk about at this hour, but if it’s that important, he suspects it may take a while.

Because of this, he’s extremely startled to have Dean burst in a mere thirty minutes later, right as Cas is deliberating between informing Dean of his demonstration proposal tonight or tomorrow. On the one hand, perhaps Dean will be more receptive in the morning, after he hasn’t just spoken to his father. On the other hand, if Dean needs time to think about it, Cas would rather not wait until the day _after _tomorrow. He’s strangely anxious to put his plan into motion, and what if Dean has an erection _tomorrow _morning, but not the morning after? Cas could end up waiting _days _to prove himself.

“Oh — Dean—” he starts, standing up from his perch at the edge of the bed and awkwardly smoothing out his tunic, quickly making a decision. “I, uh, I had a thought. Perhaps if you wake up with a morning sit— uh, ‘morning wood’ tomorrow, I could show you? My, uh, my skill, that is. So you could better decide.”

Dean just looks at him for a long moment, and then slumps back against the door, silent.

And then he strides forward and pulls Cas into a tight hug.

“Oh,” Cas utters, shifting a little so his nose isn’t squished against Dean’s shoulder. This is — unexpected, although not unwelcome.

Unless . . .

Cas shifts again, discreetly pushing against Dean’s pelvic region.

“Cas,” Dean mumbles, sighing. “What are you doing?”

Cas swallows.

“Uh. Checking to see if you have an erection right now.”

There’s a lengthy pause.

“Why?”

“Well, I thought — maybe you’re embracing me because you have a problem now and you . . . wanted me to show you.”

Another silence.

“I don’t.”

“I see that, now.”

“And for the record, I _embrace _you all the fucking time, and not one of those times have I ever had a boner.”

Cas blinks, much struck.

“A . . . boner?”

“An erection, Cas,” Dean mutters into his hair, and suddenly several overheard conversations make a little more sense.

“But — there’s a _bone_ in the penis? Ellen didn’t tell me that.”

Dean snorts.

“It’s a figure of speech.”

“Alright.”

There’s another silence, Cas waiting for Dean to let him go. He doesn’t.

“Hey,” he says suddenly. “You don’t think that’s why I hug you, do you?”

“What?”

“I don’t hug you because I — uh. _W__ant_ anything from you,” Dean continues, frustration tinged with sadness.

“I know,” Cas says, perplexed. “You hug me because — you care about me. You love me.”

He can feel Dean swallow.

“Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

After another odd, heavy silence, Cas tries to tilt his head back, although the way Dean is gripping him makes it difficult.

“Dean. Is everything alright? What did your father want?”

It takes Dean a while to answer, and when he does, his voice sounds a little funny.

“Yeah, I guess, I just — I. Cas,” he says, and there’s an alarming amount of despair in the word. “He’s making me go to Lettra.”

“He’s making you — _what_? Why? For how long?”

Dean finally pulls away, eyes a little red as he looks at Cas.

“A year.”

The bottom drops out of Cas’s stomach, and he forces himself to remain calm, for Dean’s sake. Dean looks immensely distraught, and Cas doesn’t want to make it worse.

‘Well, then I’ll go with you.”

Dean’s lips twitch, like he’s trying to smile, but then he just takes a deep breath and shakes his head.

“I, uh. I have to go alone.”

“No,” Cas says slowly. “Last time, I told you—”

“This is a little different, man. King’s orders. Nobody’s coming up with me, except a small guard.”

“And me.”

“Cas.” Dean scrubs a hand down his face. “This isn’t a war. It’s a — a dumbass exchange of ambassadors, and Dad’s choosing me because he’s punishing me. And no, you can’t come with me, because if the King commands it, it’s out of our hands.”

Cas blinks, brain working furiously, and then abruptly turns away.

“I’m yours,” he says, vision blurring. “I should — I should go where _you_ want me to.”

“Sure, Cas,” Dean says quietly. “’Cept in Lawrence, we all belong to the King. And we all do what he tells us.”

What Dean says makes sense — it’s that way in Eden, as well — but Cas was told, countless times, that he was coming to Lawrence to belong to his husband. He considers himself _Dean’s, _first and foremost. He thought this was because of the deal Michael made, because Dean is his alpha, but now that he’s confronted with some higher law —

His instinct is to dismiss it.

“I don’t want you to go away for a year,” he says instead. Ideally, Dean was never supposed to leave Cas behind again. The training tour was one thing, but a year in Lettra?

“I don’t either, Cas.”

“Why is he punishing you?”

Dean is quiet.

“We had a fight a little while back. My Dad, uh. He doesn’t like disobedience.”

“You always do as your father says.”

“I try. But — not always.”

“What did you do?” Cas demands, turning, and tries not to be angry at Dean. If Dean failed to obey his father, the fault was almost certainly with John’s orders.

Still. Dean is going away, and Cas is forbidden from following, and anger feels better than any of the other things.

Dean hesitates.

“I. I had to tell him. About — uh. Our wedding night.”

It takes Cas a moment to understand.

“But that was _years _ ago. And — and you were being _kind. _It hurt nothing.”

“That’s what I said. But — listen, Cas, that kind of thing doesn’t matter to my Dad. What matters is that his orders get followed.”

“Why on earth would you _tell _him, then?”

Dean shrugs, miserable.

“I had to. He was pushing us to have heirs. It was the only way I could think of to get him to back down.”

“I don’t understand,” Cas mumbles, and sits back down on the bed, tired and upset and suddenly dreading the year ahead.

Dean’s been gone that long before, longer even, but every time, it feels worse.

After another pause, Dean drops onto the bed beside him.

“Look, Cas. The fact that we _didn’t _means the marriage is unconsummated.”

“Unconsummated,” Cas repeats flatly, and Dean nods.

“Yeah. The reason Bobby and your whats-her-face had to be there was to prove we did it. If they weren’t, one of us could say we didn’t. And the validity of the marriage would be called into question.”

“Which means _what_?”

“It means — basically, that it doesn’t count. We’re not really married.”

Cas sucks in a breath.

“We’re _not_? But — the ceremony — and—”

“Right, but — even this many years later, if I say we didn’t do it, and at least one of the witnesses agree, then the whole deal could be thrown out. And the treaty’d dissolve with it. So I told my Dad if he pushed the issue of — uh, well, _issue, _I’d tell.”

Cas — Cas probably should, but at the moment, he doesn’t care about the treaty or King John or anything else _at all._

“So because we didn’t — because we _haven’t _had sex — we’re not really married.”

Dean rubs the back of his neck.

“I mean, technically, no? But it doesn’t really matter — dude, what are you _doing_?”

Cas ignores him, struggling with the tie on his sleep pants because his hands are trembling from anger and panic both.

“I’m undressing. And then you’re going to penetrate me, and then we’ll be married, and — and you can tell your father, and then maybe he won’t send you away, after all.”

Dean snatches both his hands just as Cas finally manages to get the tie undone.

“Woah, woah, _woah. _ Dude, _no. _ First of all, the invalid marriage card is _all _I have to play so Dad can’t make us have kids.”

“Fine,” Cas says, a little desperately. “Then — lie and say we didn’t. But we have to, Dean, we — we _have _to be married, I can’t—”

“Cas, listen!” Dean says, letting go of his hands and giving him a little shake, eyes worried. “We _are. _In all the important ways.”

“You just said we _weren’t _—”

“But it doesn’t _matter._”

“How does it not—”

“The _only _ reason it would matter is if someone wanted to challenge it. And _no one _ does. The whole point behind telling my Dad is that he _needs _the marriage to be valid. Michael does, too. The treaty is riding on it. It’s in the best interests of everyone who knows to lie about it, so yeah, Cas, we’re as good as married.”

Cas shakes his head, a lump in his throat.

“Except according to you, we _aren’t_. And — and even if we lie, now I know we’re not, and I don’t — Dean, I don’t want to ever not be married to you.”

Dean swallows, reaching for Cas’s hands again.

“Hey. Hey, don’t — don’t worry. We’re always gonna be married, Cas. This is — I’m sorry. I wouldn’t have told you if I’d known it’d upset you.”

Cas wills himself not to cry, but it’s difficult. He’s not just upset, he’s — he’s _terrified. _As grateful as he is that Dean didn’t do that, then, it seems cruel of him not to, when Cas is now prepared and willing. When he’s just told Cas that without that, someone could take it all away.

“I could _lose_ you,” Cas manages, and Dean looks confused.

“Cas. You couldn’t. You’re my best friend. Even if something happened and we stopped being married for whatever reason, nothing would change.”

“Yes, it _would. _ You said yourself, you only let me sleep in here because we’re married. My chair is next to yours at dinner because we’re married. If we weren’t married, then — then your father would make you marry someone else and I’d never see you and you’d walk someone else to breakfast and train _them_ in the courtyard and—”

Dean still looks a little confused, but he lets go of Cas’s hand and pulls him into his arms. Cas doesn’t bother resisting. The world is falling down around him and Dean is refusing to do anything to fix it, but the hug is still deeply reassuring.

“That’s not gonna happen, Cas,” Dean tells him.

“I don’t want you to marry someone else,” Cas mumbles into his neck, resolutely telling himself the dampness there is Dean’s sweat and certainly not his own tears.

“I’m not going to.”

“I love you,” Cas counters, because he can’t help himself, and Dean squeezes him tight.

“Me, too, Cas.” And for the first time, Cas is unhappy hearing it, because Dean neither understands or means it the same way he does. “It’ll be okay, I swear. None of that’ll happen. I’m gonna leave tomorrow, and you’re gonna train hard and dick around with Sam while I’m gone and the year will be over before you know it, and when I come back, I’ll walk you to breakfast and you can sleep in here every night — hell, you can move in here permanently, if you want — and we’re gonna be married ‘til we die. I promise.”

Cas freezes.

“Tomorrow?” he repeats weakly.

“What?”

“You — you’re leaving _tomorrow_?”

Dean swallows.

“Uh. Yeah. I, uh. I guess — the — the short notice is, uh. Part of the punishment.”

Cas tightens his fingers in Dean’s sleep shirt and doesn’t cry harder.

He does refuse to let go, though, even when Dean finally tries to pull away and eventually just hauls Cas up the bed, using one hand and a foot to shove the blankets down and pull them back up over the pair of them.

“Cas,” he says, once they’re settled and Cas is still clinging. “It’s gonna be okay.”

For once, Cas doesn’t believe him.

Cas sleeps poorly, dreaming of his old room in Eden’s castle and attending Dean’s new wedding and a number of other vague, disjointed horrors. When he wakes, the sun has only just begun to rise, and Dean is watching him.

“Morning, Cas,” he says softly, and a part of Cas wants to cry all over again.

“I could go with you,” he tries, without preamble, and Dean looks pained.

“You know you can’t.”

“If it were up to you — would you take me with you?”

“In a heartbeat,” Dean answers promptly, and Cas curls closer, tired.

“And you won’t make it real, before you go.”

Dean sighs.

“Look, buddy, I mean it when I say you don’t need to worry about that. If anybody asks one of us, we just say we did. Hell, that we _do. _Bobby won’t tell, and I doubt your nanny or attendant or whatever is gonna tell, so as long as you and I lie about it, it’s as good as the truth.”

Cas doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t know what _to _say. As much as he understands Dean’s logic, here, he still feels horribly insecure, and the fact that Dean is going away on top of it just makes it worse.

“C’mon,” Dean says eventually, patting his head. “Let’s get some breakfast. It’d be nice to see everyone before I go. Well, everyone who’s _awake._”

Cas is _so _ glad he didn’t sleep in the barracks last night. He wants to believe Dean would have come and found him before he rode out, but there’s a chance he would have just been gone by the time Cas woke up , and _that _would have been unbearable.

Though at least Cas would have still been confident they were actually married_._

Dean tries to leave him in the hall while he goes to collect Sam, but if Dean is leaving in a few hours, Cas doesn’t know why he’d spend a minute less with Dean than he has to.

Sam, predictably, is furious.

“_What_? He can’t do that!”

There are a few angry grunts from the other beds, and Dean jerks his head toward the doors.

“It’s my own damn fault,” Dean mutters, once the door is shut behind them. “If I’d just had time to think about it, I could’ve come up with another plan.”

“How the hell is it your fault? And what is he _thinking, _sending you to Lettra? No offense, Dean, but you’re useless there.”

“None taken, because I _am. _And it’s my fault because I panicked and ran my damn mouth off.”

“What? About _what_? And when did this happen?”

Dean shifts a little, rubbing his neck.

“Uh. Michael’s been hasslin’ Dad about heirs, so Dad called me in for a talk, and I told him if he didn’t lay off . . . I’d write Michael and tell him Cas and I didn’t, uh, do the do, on our wedding night.”

Sam stares.

“Dean, the whole _treaty _could fall apart!”

“I’m not actually gonna _do _ it! But he was talking about the end of the _year. _What else was I supposed to do?”

Sam sighs.

“And now he’s sending you away. Great.”

“Like I said, I couldn’t—”

“I _know, _I just — God. This is bullshit.”

“Pretty much.”

They reach the table, and at times like these, Cas wishes a larger dining chair existed, like a sofa, that he could just share with Dean instead.

Dean drags his chair till the arm is right against Cas’s, and then reaches for his plate, and Cas feels another pang. Perfectly capable of serving himself though he may be, he likes that Dean does it; after today, it will be another year before Dean does this for him again, and if anybody ever finds out that they’re apparently not _really _ married, then Dean might never do this for him again at _all._

“If I’m subtle, they might not realize I’m gone until it’s too late,” Cas points out, and Dean cracks a small smile.

“They’ll find you when we cross the border into Eden.”

“And you think they’ll still send me back?”

Dean hesitates.

“Cas,” he starts, troubled. “Even if you could get away with it — do you really wanna be stranded in Lettra for a year?”

“You’ll be there.”

“But what about training?”

“You’ll be there,” Cas repeats. “You can teach me.”

“Sam and Val and all your friends are here.”

Cas hesitates, glancing briefly at Sam. It was terrible when he and Dean went to Purgaea, and Cas hates the idea of not seeing him for an entire year. Dean or not, Cas will be a little lonely without Sam.

But Dean will be all by himself in Lettra, and Cas will be lonely without him, too.

“It’s only a year. You won’t have anyone, there. I want to go.”

Dean looks at him, eyes soft.

“Well. Maybe we’ll see.”

Cas just nods, hopeful, and diligently eats his breakfast.

They’re not quite done when a guard comes to collect Dean.

“Your highness. We’re ready at the gate.”

Dean looks dismayed.

“Seriously? He’s not even letting me finish breakfast?”

“His majesty was anxious that you depart promptly,” she explains, apologetic.

Dean hesitates.

“Is it too late to pack for one more?” he asks, jerking his head toward Cas, and she slowly shakes her head.

“His majesty wanted me to tell you that Sam is needed here, and . . . time apart will be good for your husband.”

“Time apart—” Dean spits, jaw tight, and the guard winces. “Yeah. Yeah, of _course _he did.”

“I’m not going, am I?” Cas says dully, and Dean shakes his head.

“No, buddy, you’re not.”

Cas was afraid of that.

“Alright. I —” He swallows. “We’ll see you off, then.”

Wordlessly, he and Sam stand, and the three of them follow the guard out of the Hall.

Once they’ve emerged, the guard mounts, Dean’s horse ready and waiting beside them, and it’s clear that all that remains is for Dean to say his goodbye.

King John is cruel, Cas thinks. They should have known. He doesn’t understand how it serves him to tear Dean away from them, from his routine, with so little notice.

Dean hugs Sam first, squeezing him tight and clapping him on the back.

“Take care of yourself, alright?”

“Of course.”

“And Valencia.”

“Ha, she’ll be sorry she missed you saying that.”

Dean smirks a little, but grows serious once more.

“And Cas.”

Cas frowns.

“I don’t need—”

“And you keep an eye on Sam,” Dean continues pointedly, but he holds Sam’s gaze in some frustratingly inscrutable silent conversation that concludes with Sam nodding, eyes sad.

Dean hugs him again, and then turns to Cas.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and Cas shakes his head.

“It’s not your fault. None of it is.”

“Still. I know this — I know you, uh. You worry. But please don’t. About — any of it. Just — try to, I don’t know. Have fun while I’m gone.”

Reluctantly, Cas nods.

“Alright. You, as well.”

“Yeah, well. We’ll see. Stuffy Lettrans.”

Dean just sort of looks at him for a long moment, and then he swipes a hand down his face and steps forward, arms raised.

Cas meets him halfway.

“I will miss you very much,” he whispers, holding on tight, and feels Dean nod.

“’S’gonna suck there, without you guys,” he says, and Cas decides that means Dean will miss him a lot, too.

It’s a long time, but not nearly long enough, before Dean pulls back, and when he does, his eyes look a little red.

“Cas,” he starts, and brings his hand up, touching Cas’s cheek. “Cas, I — fuck. I’m sorry.”

Cas shakes his head, although it’s hard, because Dean’s hand is warm against his face and he doesn’t want to break the contact.

“Don’t be. You — you’ve been gone longer, right? And you’ll be safe, this time. This is — everything will be fine.”

Dean just sort of nods, and then he huffs and leans forward, briefly kissing Cas’s cheek and then touching their foreheads together, eyes shut tight.

After a long moment, the guard who came to fetch them coughs.

“Your highness,” she says gently, and Dean takes a deep breath.

“Damn it,” he mutters, and then he lifts his chin, kissing Cas’s forehead and quickly stepping back. “Alright. Alright, let’s — we can go. I - I’ll write you guys.”

Cas just nods, heart heavy, and watches Dean mount.

Sam takes his hand, and Cas returns a grateful squeeze, though his eyes never leave Dean.

And then the gate raises, and together, they watch him ride away.

Cas is always deeply saddened by Dean’s departures, but this time, perhaps because of the suddenness, he’s completely desolate. Even his anger seems thwarted, despite the fact that Sam keeps close and his is in abundant supply.

No, Cas is just _sad_. And he misses Dean like he’s _already _been gone a year, and he can’t imagine what it’s going to feel like once it actually has.

Once the gate is closed and they can no longer see him, Cas returns to Dean’s room and takes a long nap. Sam and Valencia come to keep him company, but he feels so pathetic he can’t even bring himself to get out of the bed.

Dean’s not there, but Cas sleeps in his room that night, anyway. And on the next, when he tries to reason that he should return to the barracks, he does it again.

For three days, he doesn’t go to training. He feels tired, and even food seems unappetizing, despite the fact that by the third day he’s eaten so little he ought to be starving. Ellen comes to check on him, though she seems resigned from the outset.

“You miss Dean,” she informs him, and he turns away.

“Of course I miss Dean. I always miss him.”

“Well, you miss him so much it’s making you sick,” she says bluntly. “But you need to eat, and you need to go train, and you need to spend some time with your other friends.”

“How can it make me sick?” he asks, ignoring the other recommendations, which sound wholly unappealing at the moment. “It didn’t make me sick before.”

Ellen shifts her gaze away.

“Uh. Well. It was a surprise, wasn’t it? So, uh, in addition to being sad, you’re probably in a bit of shock.”

“Oh.”

“Anyway, it’s neither here nor there, hon. I’m gonna send for a bath, and then you’re gonna come out to the field, alright?”

“I don’t feel well.”

“Well, you can’t starve to death in a puddle of your own filth in Dean’s room. Boy’ll have a fit when he gets home.”

Cas frowns, although the idea of Dean’s concern over his welfare is bizarrely comforting.

“Is that — possible?”

“If you don’t have a bath and come train, maybe.”

Cas sighs.

“Alright.”

Reluctantly, Cas washes himself and goes out to train, but his heart isn’t really in it. It’s days before he can bring himself to eat much more than bread and soup, and even after two more weeks, his appetite hasn’t returned in full. He’s lackluster in training, forcing himself through the motions, and it’s a surprise that Bobby doesn’t say a word, though Cas knows he notices.

Really, he feels the most like himself when he’s bundled up in the library, reading with Sam and Valencia. Sam is a great comfort at this time, and he doesn’t complain once, even though Cas always leans against his shoulder the whole time. Cas can’t help himself, though. He feels a strange, overwhelming loneliness, all the time now, and Sam’s scent is one of the only things that eases the feeling. Sam smells like family, and sometimes almost a little bit like Dean — like the same forest in a different season — and it soothes the sadness and anxiety that Cas can’t seem to shake.

At the end of the third week, Bela Talbot arrives.

Cas isn’t sure what he was expecting, given Valencia’s account and his sister’s letters. He supposed he envisioned a bullish, purse-lipped sort of woman, portly or stout or possibly even viciously thin, probably middle-aged and most importantly: extremely particular about _everything_.

But Miss Talbot is right around his sister’s age, reasonably tall and slender in that lithe, powerful way that suggests the grace and fluidity of her movements is not a coincidence. Her hair is always perfectly coiffed and her clothes fine — in the Lettran way, Sam says — and with her dark blonde hair and catlike green eyes, Cas thinks she’s rather pretty. (Valencia is greatly amused when he shares this thought, for some reason.)

Most interesting of all, however, is that Bela Talbot seems remarkably _unconcerned _about everything.

It’s jarring to watch; she seems perfectly serious and engaged when Cas stumbles upon her conversing with a group of council members in the hall, and then becomes charming and jovial at the Hallows Eve celebration. She’s unfailingly polite, but possesses an amused air that never seems to falter, regardless of what mode she appears to be in.

After a good deal of curious observation, Cas concludes that for all her loveliness and charm, the sharpness in her gaze is revealing; Bela, he decides, is largely indifferent to what is happening around her.

In light of that — why on earth did she aggravate his sister quite so badly?

Valencia just smirks when he seeks her insight.

“Could be anything,” she reasons. “I mean, you find Dean pretty aggravating.”

Cas blinks.

“I don’t see how that’s relevant. And only some of the time.”

Valencia nods sagely.

“Very true, Cas. Stop giving me that look, Sam.”

Cas is still puzzled, but he holds his questions in favor of enjoying the comical, progressively more ridiculous exchange of faces that follows.

Upsettingly, Sam goes away for a weekend long training simulation in the nearby forests, and to Cas’s surprise, Bela finds him in the library on the first evening, settling into the chair next to him.

He sincerely hopes she’s not the kind of person who talks while someone is trying to read. He doesn’t dislike her, at the moment, despite his sister’s complaints, but that could tip the scale.

She’s silent for so long, Cas relaxes into his reading and forgets she’s there.

“Are you and the Prince mated?” she asks suddenly, and Cas frowns.

“Sam and me?”

“What? Of course not — Prince Dean.”

“Oh. No, we’re only married.” Cas hesitates, then explains, “It was part of a treaty, so there was no mating.”

Cas hasn’t really ever thought about mating. Ellen had mentioned it briefly when she spoke to him, but none of it seemed relevant to him, and he’s never given it any thought. Even when he was very young and expected to present as an alpha, he’d been preoccupied with becoming a knight; he supposes, had he stayed in Eden, Michael still would have married him off to someone, and he must have peripherally understood that it was a non-issue.

As Dean pointed out — they’re all just property of the king.

“Oh. You smell strange. I wondered.”

Cas starts.

“Dean hasn’t been home for weeks. I couldn’t possibly still smell like him.”

Bela squints.

“I’ve never met the man, so I wouldn’t know if you did.” She tilts her head. “Are you . . . ill, then?”

“Oh. Yes. I’m getting better, though.” It’s happening slowly, but Cas no longer struggles to make himself get out of bed.

He still can’t bring himself to go back to the barracks, though.

“Interesting,” she says slowly, and the calculating look in her eye makes Cas uncomfortable.

“You smell strange, too,” he informs her, and she stills. “Like some kind of flower, but there’s something off about it.”

She looks uncomfortable for a moment, and then smiles, shrugging.

“In Lettra, we all wear perfume. Florals are a popular choice.”

“You cover up your scents,” Cas clarifies, and the smile widens, though Cas thinks it looks more sincere.

“There are certainly advantages to doing so.”

“I suppose.” Cas is glad they don’t do that in Lawrence. He remembers being very confused — and frequently irritated — after he first presented, but now he thinks it would be incredibly upsetting not to be able to scent Dean or Sam or any of his friends.

“Your sister worries about you, you know,” she remarks, casual, and Cas is annoyed to find that he’s forgotten to _be _annoyed that she’s interrupted his reading.

“Anna is like that.”

“I think she’s a little jealous, to be honest.”

“Why would she be jealous?”

“No offense, Castiel, but Eden is somewhat dreadful.”

“None taken. I’m much happier here.”

She studies him, and then smiles again.

“You’re fortunate. Most people who get married off and sent away tell a very different tale.” She pauses. “I wonder, though — your brother never made her marry. She’s been of age for a long time, and — well, she’s handsome enough, I suppose.” Bela sniffs. “You would think he’d want to use that.”

Cas nods.

“I’ve wondered about that, as well. To be honest — I think he’s afraid.”

“Afraid?”

Cas considers how to explain it. A part of him wonders if he should, given that he barely knows Bela, but there’s something about the way she speaks of his sister that suggests to him she knows Anna better than he thought.

“Anna tolerates his . . . pettiness, generally, and Valencia thinks she’s begun to like staying in the tower dungeon. But I don’t think he can really _make _her do anything. And I think he’s afraid to find out. If he tried to force her to marry, I’m confident she’d get out of it.”

“And he’d look rather foolish in the process,” Bela muses, and Cas nods.

“He looks foolish anyway,” he says honestly, and she laughs.

“Well, Castiel,” she says, standing. “It’s been a pleasure chatting with you. Perhaps I’ll find something to read next time. Enjoy your evening.”

“Oh. You, too,” he says, and with a nod, she departs.

Curious, he thinks, and returns to his book.

Just as Cas is starting to feel like himself again, things take a turn for the worse.

A week into November, Valencia announces that she’s going to Eden.

“For how long?” Cas demands, anxious. Dean is already gone, and while Cas may not perfectly understand the many intricacies of Sam and Valencia’s relationship, he doesn’t doubt that Sam will be doubly unhappy if Valencia goes, too.

Cas knows Sam misses Dean, very much; unlike Cas, he was able to go with him last time. As much as Cas clings to the knowledge that Sam, at least, will not be leaving him, Sam’s support the last several weeks has been invaluable, and Cas is afraid he’ll strain himself trying to maintain it.

“I’m not sure,” Valencia says, glancing at Sam, who is just staring at her, mouth tight. “But I’m . . . concerned. I think Anna could use an ally.”

“And you think that ally should be you.”

“Sam. You saw the letters.”

“What letters?” Cas asks, although Anna’s letters have been concerningly brief, vague, and unmistakably tense. He has no doubt she’s shared more of the situation with Valencia — despite Cas’s age, she seems reluctant to burden him with anything serious — but even he knows that something is amiss in Eden.

What he doesn’t know, however, is how worried he should be.

They ignore him.

“Yeah, and I get why you’re worried, but — what do you expect to achieve by going?”

“I expect to be there for a friend.”

“And you can’t provide moral support through letters?”

“It’s not like you don’t have the same problem,” she retorts, and Sam narrows his eyes.

“Seriously. How do you plan to help? Even _she_ can’t do anything but wait and see.”

“Exactly. And the waiting period looks like it’s rapidly coming to a close, and she deserves to have at least one friend in her stupid-ass country looking out for her.”

“You don’t know that it will come to that.”

“You don’t know that it _won’t. _ And if it doesn’t, great. I’ll turn around and come home. But since there’s a chance it will — I’m going. I _have _to.” She tilts her head. “It’s weird, I kind of thought you’d understand that.”

Sam looks down, shaking his head.

“They’re two different things.”

“They’re really not.”

“Please don’t,” he says quietly, and Cas suddenly feels like he should avert his gaze, like maybe he’s seeing something he shouldn’t.

“Please don’t try to change my mind,” she counters, and after a moment, Sam gets up from the table and walks out.

Cas is a little worried about how they left things, but Sam behaves normally the next day, as though the conversation never happened. The only reason Cas can be sure he didn’t dream it is Sam’s quiet request one evening, all of them sprawled out in the library, asking her to accept a limited escort at least to the border.

She considers this for a long moment, and then just as quietly agrees.

Valencia leaves three days after that, and before she mounts her horse, she hugs Cas tightly, promising she’ll take good care of his sister — “And yourself, I assume,” he warns, trying and failing to be amused — and then stops in front of Sam, just looking at him.

He looks back, solemn and strangely drooping, and with a nod, she puts her hands on his shoulders, leans up, and kisses him.

Cas doesn’t know if he kisses her back; he looks away, wishing nobody he loved ever had to go anywhere (and if he’s being honest, that he could have kissed Dean like that before he left, too).

“What does that even mean?” he hears Sam ask.

“It means I’m going to miss you. And I’m sorry you’re going to miss me.”

There’s a pause.

“I’m not. I mean, I’m not sorry. But I am going to miss you,” Sam says, and Valencia sighs.

“We’re not very good at this, are we?”

“I guess not,” he agrees, arch, and she huffs a laugh.

“Well, until we meet again, my friends.”

She squeezes Cas’s shoulder and mounts her horse, and the moment she’s through the gate, Cas apologetically inflicts a firm hug on Sam.

“You’re not allowed to leave until at least one of them comes back,” he informs him, and feels Sam prop his chin on Cas’s head.

Cas forgives him, because he’s pretty sure Sam doesn’t realize this is an offensive reminder of their height difference.

“I won’t if you won’t.”

Cas sniffs.

“Where on earth would I go?”

With a sigh, Sam steps back.

“I guess you’re right.” He glances toward the gate, pensive. “I guess we’re both just . . . stuck here. Waiting.”

“I’m tired of waiting,” Cas mumbles, and Sam nods.

“I know. Me, too.”

The Harvest Feast is a little lonely, but Charlie and Jo are in high spirits, and Cas is convinced to force down a few beers, following which he is easily coaxed into singing and dancing with them. He wears his blue flower comb, which is gratifyingly admired, although Charlie complains heartily.

“If boys get to wear flowers now, I should get to do boy stuff.”

Jo snorts.

“Like what?”

“I don’t know!” Charlie says, waving her arms. “Boy stuff!”

Benny frowns.

“I don’t think there is anythin’, Red. Reckon it’s just us fellas that can’t have flowers.” His frown deepens. “Hey, I want some flowers.”

Cas crawls over — when on earth did they end up on the floor? — and puts a hand on Benny’s shoulder, blinking at him with earnest eyes.

“Next time — next time I go to the market, Benny,” he promises. “I’ll bring you back some flowers.”

“Some blue ones like yours?” Benny asks, hopeful, and then his face falls. “Don’t got enough hair for a comb, though.”

“No, no,” Cas assures him. “There’s other flower things. Oh! Dean — Dean has a _crown._”

Benny’s eyes get big.

“Dean’s got a flower crown?”

“Yes! And it’s _beautiful _on him, Benny. It brings out his freckles, and — and his eyes and — and anyway, I’ll find you a crown, too.”

Benny beams, and then throws his arms around Cas.

“Thanks, Cas. You’re the _best._”

Cas returns the hug, pleased to be useful and very determined to obtain a blue flower crown for Benny, but suddenly there’s cold air at his front and he’s being dragged back a little.

He tilts his head all the way back and looks up to find Sam above him, arms hooked underneath Cas’s.

“Oh. Hello, Sam,” Cas says, grinning, but Sam is looking at Benny, vaguely alarmed.

“Hey. Everything cool over here?” he says, cautious, and when Cas manages to reorient himself, Benny has his eyes shut, leaning against the table but giving Sam a thumbs up.

“Cas is gonna get me a flower crown. Evie’s gonna _love _me in a flower crown,” he adds, dreamy, and Sam laughs, concern fading.

“Oh, is that how it is? Alright. Are we going to the market, Cas?”

Cas gets a little queasy with how fast he spins, shaking Sam’s arms free so he can look at him.

“Can we? I went with Dean, before. I don’t want to go by myself.” He frowns. “I don’t — I don’t think I have any money.”

“Well, as long as you’re not buying real estate or anything, you can buy whatever you want and just put it on the castle account. But yeah, Cas, I’d love to take you to the market.”

Cas throws his arms around Sam’s legs, sighing.

“Thank you, Sam.”

“Hey, where’s my hug?” Jo calls, hopping off the table and coming to unstick Cas from Sam’s limbs.

“Of course, Jo,” he says reasonably.

“I want one, too!” Charlie yells. “Soon as I’m done putting Ash’s pants on.”

Cas wraps his arms around Jo, perfectly content for about ten seconds.

“Wait,” he says abruptly. “If you’re wearing Ash’s pants, then—”

“Damn it, Ash, put some fucking pants on!” Walt yells, and Cas feels Jo burst into giggles, disentangling herself to turn around.

She immediately stops laughing.

“Jesus _Christ, _Ash, put some fucking underwear on!”

Curious, Cas tries to look over her shoulder, only to find his vision suddenly dark.

“Sam,” he says, vexed. “Move your hand, I can’t see.”

“That’s, um, that’s kind of the point, Cas,” Sam says, and Cas sighs.

“Sam, I see naked people all the time. There’s nothing remarkable about it,” he informs him, and there’s a choked sounding laugh.

“Right, but — but still.”

A few moments later, Sam finally lets go, and Cas blinks into the light.

Ash is wearing a tablecloth like a skirt, now, which is arguably more interesting than the previous situation, given that Cas has no particular desire to see him half-naked.

“Aha!” Charlie crows, standing proudly. “Behold. I wear the boy pants.”

“They’re the same damn thing,” Jo points out, unimpressed. “After Queen Mary’s Pocket Rebellion, the only difference is—”

“Oh, my God, why is there so much _space _in the front?” Charlie demands, leaning over to tug at the crotch of the pants.

Jo snickers.

“Boys get claustrophobic.”

Charlie blinks, and then makes a face.

“Ohhh. Dicks.”

Everyone bursts into childish giggles, and Cas is no different. He’s still struggling to understand what is so inherently amusing about penises, but he knows that in Lawrence, at least, they’re a joke all on their own.

“What was Queen Mary’s Pocket Rebellion?” Cas asks, once they’ve all settled down, and Sam sits, leaning against the wall next to him.

“So, even during Roman’s rule, women in the lower classes still wore pants, but the pockets kind of sucked. A lot of women’s pants didn’t have them, or they were a third of the size of men’s pockets — you know. Really inconvenient. Anyway, my Mom hated it, and long story short, all skirts and trousers are now required by law to have pockets of certain dimensions.”

“All hail Queen Mary,” Jo says, and knocks back another shot.

Cas nods vigorously.

“Yes. I love my pockets.” He pinches the fabric of his trousers, serious. “Just before I left Eden, I had to start wearing omega’s robes, and they seemed specifically designed to make everything difficult.”

“Omega’s robes?” Jo asks, and Cas nods.

“Like what I wore to my wedding.”

“So dresses,” she clarifies, grimacing.

“Basically.”

“And — you had to wear these why? Just because you were about to get married?”

“No, because I was an omega.” Cas sighs. “Before that, I was supposed to be an alpha, like all my siblings.”

“They made you guys wear shit based on _secondary _gender?”

Cas shrugs.

“In Eden, that’s your primary gender.”

“So — boyness and girlness didn’t matter?”

“Not at all.”

“Wild,” Jo says, shaking her head. “I mean, it doesn’t here, anymore—”

“’Cept I don’t get any flowers,” Benny mumbles, and Jo nods.

“Point. The boys are still catching up.”

“More like the girls are hoggin’ all the flowers,” he grumbles, and she rolls her eyes.

“_Anyway. _ Nobody gives a shit about your secondary gender in Lawrence, for the most part. Roman tried to do something like that, but nobody in the lower towns bothered changing, and _he_ never bothered coming around, so it was — you know. Whatever.”

“Cassss,” Charlie squeals, stumbling over and adjusting her pants before dropping to the ground. “Can your sister send me one of those funny beta hats?”

“But you’re not a beta. And you don’t have to wear it.”

“But they’re so _funny,_” she protests, and Cas frowns.

“I don’t think there’s anything particularly amusing about them.”

“That’s because you grew up seeing them. They’re totally weird,” she assures him.

“I think the bonnets were weirder,” Cas muses. “I had to start wearing them when I went outside.”

“No, no.” Charlie shakes her head. “The bonnets are _cute._”

“’Fraid I have to agree with Cas there,” Jo says. “The bonnets look fuckin’ ridiculous.”

“They’re _cute._”

“Look, just ‘cause _you_ had a giant crush on that Duchess of Davenport illustration in that Edenish fairytale book from the library—”

“You thought she was cute, too!”

“Did not.”

“You remember her _name_!”

“It’s catchy.” Jo snatches Charlie’s beer. “Anyway, cute or not, the bonnet did nothing for her.”

Cas sighs.

“It didn’t look very good on me, either.”

“Aw, I’m sure you were adorable,” Jo says, booping his nose, and Cas wrinkles it.

“I wasn’t. Anyway, knights aren’t supposed to be adorable.”

Charlie gives him a sly look.

“Ohhh? That’s too bad. Dean thinks you’re adorable.”

“Charlie,” Sam says, but Cas has already perked up.

“He does?”

“You _bet _he does.”

Cas’s face is already warm from all the beer he drank, but now it gets downright hot.

“Oh.” He picks at the hem of his tunic, trying not to smile. “He thinks I’m — cute, then.”

Dean said so, before, but that was a long time ago, and Cas has become a rather large, occasionally cranky person.

“That, and he adores you. Although,” she adds, reaching over to pinch his cheeks. “Who wouldn’t?”

Cas’s whole chest feels full and warm.

“Did he, um, did he say that?” Cas feels a little cheated. Dean indicating he loves Cas back is very nice, there’s no doubt about that, but _adoring _Cas seems slightly different and it would have been nice to know.

“Didn’t have to,” Charlie snorts. “Heart eyes, every time he looks at you.”

“Charlie,” Sam says again, and he sounds very stern. Charlie rolls her eyes at him, opening her mouth, but Cas forges ahead, impatient.

“What do you mean, ‘heart eyes?’”

She grins, poking his cheek again.

“Heart eyes! In this case, the way you look at somebody you love.”

Cas looks down, a little embarrassed, though not in an unpleasant way. _Cas_ knows Dean loves him, but he didn’t know other people could tell, just from the way Dean looked at him.

Which is strange; Cas wouldn’t know, if Dean hadn’t told him. He’ll have to pay more attention next time he sees Dean. Still, it raises an important question.

“Do, uh. Do _I _do that?”

“The heart-iest.”

“Oh.” Cas had no idea. He turns, catching Sam’s eye and searching. “Sam loves me. Is he doing the heart eyes now, or do we not do it all the time?”

Everyone goes quiet, and when he turns back to Charlie, she looks stunned.

“Uhhh. Well, when I say ‘someone you love’—’” she starts, and Sam puts an arm around Cas, squeezing his shoulders.

“It’s a sometimes thing, Cas. Like when you find a really good book for me in the library, or you say something funny, or you give me good advice — you know. Times that make me think how much I love you. That’s when I give you heart eyes.”

That’s actually very helpful; Cas thinks he understands what heart eyes are now. There’s a warm, affectionate way people have of looking, sometimes — that must be it.

“Oh, my _God, _you and Dean are both assholes,” Jo says, draining the rest of Charlie’s beer and getting to her feet. “I’m gonna get a refill.”

“What she said,” Charlie grumbles, and Cas looks to Sam, confused.

He smiles, a little tight.

“Too much to drink for everyone, I think,” he says, and Cas nods.

“You’re probably right. I’m getting very sleepy.”

Sam’s smile softens.

“Yeah. Maybe we should go to bed. You ready?”

Cas nods, and Sam stands up and helps pull him to his feet.

“I’ll stay in the castle tonight, too.”

“Are you going to sleep in Dean’s room with me?” Cas asks, and from the floor, Benny snorts.

Cas is startled. He’d assumed Benny fell asleep.

“Hoo, boy. He’d better not.”

Sam sighs.

“I would, Cas, but Benny’s right. We could get in trouble.”

“Oh, right.” Cas nods, although he’s struggled with this rule the last few weeks. Missing Dean as much as he does, it would have been very reassuring to have Sam sleep in there with him. “We’re not allowed, since we aren’t married. Although, I think, if I weren’t married to Dean, being married to you wouldn’t be awful.”

Sam’s mouth twitches.

“Wow. Thanks, Cas.”

“You’re welcome, Sam.”

Cas gives him a hug when they say goodnight, because there aren’t any rules against that, as far as he knows, and if there were — that is probably where Cas would draw the line at following them.

Still, it’s very lonely, going to sleep by himself in Dean’s room after the lively crowd in the hall, and he’s a little sad as he drifts away.

Ten more months seems so very _long._

Sam takes Cas to the market the very next day, though it is considerably more crowded than it was last time.

“Once the Harvest Feast is over, people start shopping for Christmas gifts,” Sam explains. “It’ll be kinda crazy through to the New Year.”

Cas doesn’t like it as well, this busy, but today the stalls are all decorated for the holidays, and a variety of attractive gift bundles and special trinkets are being sold, so in many ways, it’s worth it.

“Can I buy gifts for the others, today?”

“Of course.” Sam looks a little sheepish. “Honestly, someone probably should have brought you here sooner, but I guess we all assumed Dean would do it, and you always figured out gifts, anyway — your watercolors are like a collector’s item, by the way — so I guess we just kind of . . . dropped the ball.”

Cas does generally manage to employ the aid of various persons in the castle to arrange for gifts, and he enjoys doing it, but the market presents a wonderful new world of options of which he’s happy to take advantage of now.

“It’s fine. Dean took me eventually,” he adds, and to be fair, Dean was often away at the holidays. “And I do work very hard on my watercolors.”

Sam nods earnestly.

“You, um, you can tell.”

Cas gives him a knowing look and after a moment, Sam caves, laughing.

“Yeah, yeah. Okay, um — Benny wanted some flowers?”

“Yes. Dean said the same vendors aren’t always there, but hopefully we’ll find her.”

Two hours and countless present-acquisitions later, they stumble upon her stall, and she lights up.

“Oh, how wonderful to see you again, Prince Castiel! And you’ve brought Prince Sam! Truly, his hair is as glorious as they say.”

Cas thinks Sam might blush.

“Oh, um, wow. Thanks — it’s really not . . . anyway. We’re looking for a blue flower crown.”

No sooner are the words out than the vendor is managing to present them with three options, each more elaborate than the last.

“I like the one with the tiny pink and white rosebuds in between,” Cas muses. “I think it’ll look very nice with his complexion.”

“Um — yes? Probably?” Sam scratches his head. “I guess I’ve never really thought about Benny’s complexion.”

“Most things will look nice with it,” Cas explains helpfully. “He’s very handsome.”

Not as handsome of Dean, of course, but it seems unkind to compare anyone to Dean.

“Uh-huh.” Sam is quiet for a minute while Cas inspects the other items. “I guess that’s why Evie likes him.”

“Well, Benny’s not as handsome as Dean,” Cas admits, forgetting himself. “But he has many other good qualities. I imagine Evie likes those best.”

Sam studies him, and then he shakes his head, smiling.

“Probably.”

“I think, when Dean gets back, I’m going to challenge him.”

“Dean?”

“No. Benny. Every time I try to fight Dean, he refuses. But if I can beat Benny, then I think Dean will have to fight me, and if I win . . .”

Cas is not sure, exactly_, _what he expects to happen when he wins, but it will force Dean to acknowledge him as an adult, and Cas can figure things out from there.

“What if you lose?”

“Well, I have another year to train. If he gets back and I suspect I’m not ready yet, then of course I’ll wait. But if everything continues on as it is, I believe I will be.”

Sam nods.

“You’re pretty incredible, now.”

Cas sighs.

“It would help if you actually _tried _when we fought.”

Sam looks offended.

“I try.”

“You don’t. You fight like you’re indulging us — just well enough not to be injured. Dean told me how different you are in an _actual _battle.”

Sam rubs his neck.

“Well, I don’t want to hurt anyone I actually _like._”

Cas scowls, agitatedly fingering a silk rose petal where it blooms out of a perfume lid. He suspected this; Sam would probably be his best training opportunity and challenge, except he insists on holding back. Cas tried attacking him mercilessly, like Jo suggested, but Sam still refused to do much more than defend and halfheartedly parry.

“I appreciate that Sam, but I _really_ wish you would try.”

He holds up a netted thing with clips, delicate white and navy blooms threaded throughout, and turns, holding it up to Sam’s head.

“I thought so,” he says smugly. “This one, too,” he tells the girl, and she nods approvingly.

“Oh, that complements him beautifully. He’s lucky his hair is long enough.”

Cas nods.

“Sam _is_ very fortunate. He’s almost as attractive as his brother,” he adds, and for some reason, Sam snorts. “Most things look very nice on him.”

“Thanks, Cas,” he says dryly. “Although — I just want to point out — there _are _some people who think I’m better looking.”

Cas blinks.

“Oh,” he says, unsure, and Sam sighs.

“_Now _who isn’t even trying.”

“Don’t listen to him,” the vendor interjects, though she lets out a happy sigh. “When you’re in love, no one else compares.”

Cas stares, much struck.

“In love?” he echoes. “How did you know?”

Her smile falters, brows knitting together.

“It’s the way you look at him, obviously. The way you look when you speak of him.” She chuckles. “It’s not as though it’s a secret.”

This is . . . well, deeply disturbing. Cas had no idea he revealed so much of his feelings in the way he looked at people.

“Oh, no,” he mutters, then turns baleful eyes on Sam. “Do you think Dean knows?”

The vendor draws back, mouth open, and Sam quickly takes Cas’s arm.

“Excuse us,” he says, and tugs Cas to the side, clearing his throat. “Let’s — maybe we shouldn’t talk about your, um, your feelings. Around other people.”

Cas frowns.

“She brought it up. And apparently it’s not a _secret_ — ” Cas cuts off, swallowing. “How many people know? She made it sound like — like _everyone _can tell!”

Sam winces.

“Look, I’m not going to lie, Cas. You, um. You do get a certain . . . _way, _around Dean, or — or about him. But Dean’s — well, Dean’s an idiot, so you don’t have to worry about him, and as for everyone else — it doesn’t matter. But — well, the townspeople just, um, assume you’re in love with — each other? So it’ll confuse them if you act like — like Dean doesn’t know.”

And Cas’s first impulse, as Sam speaks, is to be angry on Dean’s behalf, because Dean is _not _an idiot.

Except then Cas remembers that sometimes he is, and that’s probably what Sam was talking about, so he lets it slide.

But wait, if what Sam says is true —

“All these people think Dean’s in love with me, as well?” he clarifies, and Sam looks away, clearly uncomfortable.

“Um. Yeah. Pretty much . . . that.”

Cas clenches his fists.

“Then clearly I’m _not _ too young. You’re right, Sam, Dean _is _ an idiot.” He scowls. “And I can’t even tell him they think that, can I? Then he’ll figure out how _I _feel and I suspect he’s stubborn enough to still be upset about it.”

“I — um. That could be,” Sam says cautiously.

Cas sighs.

“Well. That’s . . . good to know. I suppose I’ll be more discreet.” He turns back toward the stall, thoughtful. “Dean did look extremely handsome in flowers, though. Do you think he’d like some more?”

Sam opens his mouth, then suddenly grins.

“You know what? I think he’d _love _some more.”

Cas spends a small fortune on flowers, but the vendor is ecstatic and everything is well worth the money, and he can’t quite bring himself to feel guilty.

A few days later, Cas’s heat hits.

Or rather, it doesn’t so much _hit _as it just . . . creeps up on him.

On the first day, he assumes it’s a regular morning situation, and even when he starts to feel a little hot and itchy while training, he mostly just wonders if he’s ill.

To be honest, he also went to bed a little melancholy and missing Dean, and the feelings lingered through today, so it wouldn’t surprise him.

It’s not until Meg walks by him at lunch, then stops, giving the air a deep sniff, that he realizes what’s happening.

“Shit, Clarence,” she drawls, giving him an appreciative look. “You smell _fantastic._”

Cas sniffs himself, confused — he was too morose to take his bath last night, and since Dean wasn’t there, it seemed like it hardly mattered — and while he wouldn’t say he smells very good at all, he _does _smell a little like his heat.

“I’m in heat,” he realizes, and she gives him a thumbs up.

“Smells like it. Better go get down with your bad self in the infirmary before Sam makes good on that bitch face he’s giving me and we duel over your honor.”

At that, Cas turns around, and sure enough, Sam is making a very grumpy face at Meg.

“I’m just teasing him,” she calls over, grinning. “It’s not like he’s gonna take the bait! Even if he is all on his lonesome without his royal fine-ass.”

Sam rolls his eyes and hastens over, making a face as he nears.

“Yikes, she’s right,” he says, gingerly patting Cas’s back. “Here, I’ll walk you over.”

“Or I could,” Meg offers, smirking, and Sam sighs.

“I hope you’re getting it out of your system, now, Meg.”

“Please,” she scoffs. “Even I’m not dumb enough to do it in front of Dean. No matter how pretty Clarence is.”

“Thank you, Meg,” Cas tells her, a little confused by the conversation but aware enough to recognize that as a compliment. “You’re very pretty, as well.”

“Ohh? Maybe I _should _walk you over.”

“You really shouldn’t,” Sam says kindly, and nudges Cas. “You set? I can bring you anything else you need. Is your book in Dean’s room?”

“Yes.” Cas hesitates. “Actually, I think I’ll just — I’ve been staying in there, anyway, and since Dean’s not there to be bothered by it . . .”

Sam’s face softens in understanding.

“Of course. Whatever makes you the most comfortable. I’ll let Ellen know on my way back.”

Sam walks him up to Dean’s room, and though Cas doesn’t think it’s necessary and he suspects Sam knows that, too, he appreciates the gesture. He still wakes up feeling a little drained some days, and he’s really not looking forward to dealing with a heat.

Ellen comes to visit him an hour later, and finds him a little flushed but reasonably comfortable, curled up in bed and reading.

“Hey, kiddo. How’s it looking?”

Cas shrugs, marking his place and shutting the book.

“Not too bad, yet. I probably could have stayed at training if Meg hadn’t pointed it out.”

“Hm.” She studies him, and then nods to herself. “Well — you’re still settling into a cycle. Don’t be surprised if this one’s pretty mild.”

“I thought they tended to get worse.”

“They do,” she agrees. “Just — you know. Sometimes they’re wonky. Two steps forward, one step back kinda thing.”

“Oh. Well, I certainly won’t complain.”

She fixes him a pot of tea before she leaves and, as always, puts the cloth bag on his nightstand.

Unlike always, however, Cas looks at it, this time.

He considers it for a few moments, and then turns back to his book, cheeks warm.

There’s not really a situation to take care of, he decides. He’ll worry about it later.

Three hours later, and he hasn’t had a single erection. Aside from having to occasionally kick off the blankets for a few minutes before wanting them back, Cas feels pretty okay. Not one hundred percent, by any means, but — nothing like his last few heats.

Still, he feels terribly conscious of the cloth bag on the night stand, and when no situations appear forthcoming, he decides he should take advantage of his current comfort level and at least _look _at it.

This proves to be a bit of a mistake.

The thing is . . . well. A lot bigger than Cas remembers. Looking at it this time, he’s able to make the connection between it and the thing it’s supposed to emulate, but it’s still — it’s very intimidating.

Cas has never really thought of his penis in terms of fitting anywhere besides his pants; he doesn’t think the heat aid much bigger than his own penis when having a situation — for all he knows, it could be smaller; he’s never taken special note — but now that he considers what’s supposed to be done with it, both seem _enormous._

This does not bode well for his experiments.

He stares at it for a number of minutes, increasingly troubled as he tries and fails to wrap his brain around where it’s supposed to _go. _ It only makes matters worse when, having concluded that yes, it is probably roughly the dimensions of his erection, he starts to wonder about _Dean’s._

All penises are not the same, Cas has learned. He would have assumed they didn’t vary much, but overheard conversations in the barracks and bath house would suggest they absolutely do, and that variety is a point of contention among his fellows.

Cas, for his part, generally avoids thinking of penises at all.

Now he must, though, and in very specific, daunting terms. He wishes fervently that he had thought to steal a glimpse of Dean’s before he left. Of course, Cas didn’t know he’d be leaving_, _but it hadn’t even occurred to him to worry about it.

But then he remembers it changes size when erect, so unless he was willing to discreetly look out for Dean’s morning erections, peeking in the bath would have been more likely to generate an awkward situation rather than any useful information.

He sighs, looking away. The experiment will be _useless _if Dean is much bigger than the heat aid.

Unless Cas’s initial theory is proven right, and it doesn’t fit at all. Then he’ll know Dean’s wouldn’t fit, either.

Oh — but what if Dean is _smaller_? If that’s the case, then even if Cas can’t use the heat aid, he might be able to accommodate Dean. In fact, if Dean _is _ on the smaller end of the spectrum, it might even be _easy._

Cheered a little by the thought of Dean having a particularly small penis, Cas squares his shoulders and turns back to the heat aid, decisively reaching for the little parchment with the instructions. He’s even more relieved to find that _apparently, _he’s not even supposed to try the aid right away. A quick scrutiny of the preparation instructions have disaster feeling much, much less imminent, and Cas relaxes even further.

So what if it doesn’t work? At least he’ll know what to measure against. And if it doesn’t, then all Cas has to do is wait until Dean gets home, bide his time until a ‘morning wood’ happens, and determine from that the logistics.

He shimmies out of his pajama pants and settles back against the pillows, still a little nervous but overall much less worried than he had been.

It’s so nice to have a plan.

An hour later, Cas has figured out that in addition to having a plan, a lot of other things are nice.

He also understands, now, why Meg would ‘cut a bitch’ before giving up those things.

Ellen spares a brief glance to the vacant nightstand when she comes to check on him, and Cas awkwardly waits for her to say something.

The something would probably be ‘I told you so’ or even ‘we all told you so,’ and Cas, having conducted multiple, uh, satisfactory trials, despite the fact that his actual heat doesn’t really seem to be bothering him, already feels foolish enough for putting it off so long.

But Ellen just brews him another pot of tea, checks his forehead against her hand, and declares this to be ‘a real mild one.’

She pauses on her way out the door, however, giving him a fond smile.

“You’re fixin’ to be a great knight, honey,” she says, and Cas tilts his head, startled — though he certainly appreciates the sentiment.

“What makes you say that?”

“Bravery in the face of the unknown,” she tells him, rapping the door jamb with her knuckles. “I’ll come get you for training bright and early, so don’t stay up too late.”

She leaves without waiting for a response, and Cas snuggles back into the bed, beaming.

He never thought he could say this during a heat, but today has been a very, very good day.

There’s still faint, lingering symptoms, but Cas does his training as usual and Ellen readily okay’s Sam visiting in the evening, bearing letters from Dean and fresh parchment to compose their responses.

Dean continues a previous rant in his letter, complaining of Lettra’s many ridiculous rules and formalities, and once again decries the practice of perfume.

_Everyone smells so fucking weird, _ he writes. _And there are some people who wear a different scent _ _ every day _ . _It’s fucking confusing, Cas. They’re just bizarre here. I was at a dinner party and a couple of dudes were having a quiet conversation and suddenly they’re naming seconds for a goddamn _ _ duel. _ _ These people must have invented the poker face; and they’re so drenched in artificial scent, I couldn’t even smell the guys getting angry in the first place. _

It all sounds terrible, and Cas tells him so.

And then he sits, staring at the mostly blank page and completely unsure what else to write.

It sounds like Dean is feeling better — his first couple of letters were mainly preoccupied with bemoaning the persistent bug he’d picked up right after he left Lawrence — so Cas hesitantly scrawls a message of relief at his (presumably) improved condition. He glances back to the letter, which concluded with some heartwarming albeit gruff allusions to how much he misses Cas, and adds a few more lines clearly returning the sentiment.

And then his quill halts again.

Dean’s return is months and months and _ months _ away, but Cas can’t help himself. He wants to tell Dean what he discovered yesterday, that unless Dean is unusually proportioned, Cas will _ easily _be able to assist him with his ruts — a thought that has been keeping Cas warm all day.

(If Cas is being very honest, he got a little caught up yesterday evening, forgetting about heats and ruts altogether and entertaining the idea of doing certain things with Dean just for _ fun _ . He was particularly startled to find that combining the new method of dealing with erections with the old one _ at the same time _led to truly spectacular results, and lost a good half hour to wondering how that might translate to having Dean there instead.)

(Of course, he’s probably getting ahead of himself.)

In any case, Cas is eager to inform Dean of the compelling sorcery his body has proven capable of and enumerate all the reasons it would just be _ practical _ for Dean to take advantage of this, but he’s also afraid Dean will remain dismissive of the idea, and having the argument over the lengthy delays of letters seems incredibly tedious.

Oh, but Cas wishes Dean were here right now.

“Everything okay, Cas?” Sam asks, looking a little uncomfortable. “Do you, um, do you need me to leave?”

Cas blinks.

“What? No, I’m fine. I’m just — I’m having trouble. I don’t know what else to write.”

“If you’re sure.” Sam fiddles with his quill, looking thoughtful. “Did you tell him about the market?”

“Oh. No, I’ll do that.” Still, Cas hesitates. “Sam, do you think . . .”

“Hm? What’s up, Cas?”

Cas would really appreciate some advice, at the moment, but to be honest, he’s not sure if it’s okay to ask. Never mind the slight embarrassment he feels about sharing yesterday’s . . . enlightenment; he’s aware that it’s rude to talk about certain things at certain times, and since this is _ not _within the context of a joke, his instincts are leaning toward this being both one of those things and one of those times.

“Well — uh. Suppose Dean and I had a . . . disagreement, before he left. About me . . . helping him. With something. And it became clear that his issue was my, uh. My lack of — experience. With the thing.”

When Cas looks up again, Sam looks uneasy.

“Right,” he coughs. “Okay. I’m not, um. I’m not sure I can really _ advise _yo—-”

“You know Dean better than anyone, though,” Cas reasons. “Anyways, I have recently obtained some experience with that—”

“_ What?” _Sam chokes out, and Cas gives him a puzzled look before continuing.

“And I’d like him to know. So he can . . .” Cas trails off, unsure. While he feels eager to tell Dean that the odds are very good Cas can help with his rut, or morning erections, he’s not actually sure how it will benefit Dean to know now. Except — “So he can have something to look forward to,” Cas finishes, pleased.

Sam’s face is doing a variety of interesting things. Cas isn’t sure whether to be amused or concerned.

“Okay. Wow. Okay. That’s — okay.” Sam takes a deep breath. “Right, uh. First of all, who, um, who helped you? Get that — that experience?”

Cas tilts his head.

“Well, no one.” Cas neither wants to or is allowed to do that sort of thing with people who aren’t Dean, and before yesterday, he was still strongly hesitating on the latter.

Sam briefly looks confused, but quickly nods.

“Oh. Okay. That’s — that’s good. Um. What — what was the question, again?”

“Oh. I forgot to ask.” Cas takes a deep breath. “Given Dean’s reluctance, before — I’m afraid he may continue to have misgivings. He can be very stubborn, and — well, honestly, he tends to cling to some ridiculous ideas.”

Sam nods, looking very serious.

“Yeah. Yeah, Dean, um, Dean can be like that.”

“If for some reason, that’s the case here — I’d rather not have this discussion through letters. Do you think it would be better to wait until he returned?”

Sam rubs the back of his neck, making a weird face.

“Umm. Well. Probably? I mean, like you said, he can be . . . yeah. Maybe — maybe it’s better to wait.”

Cas is not surprised, but he is disappointed.

“Ah. I thought that might be the case.” He sighs. “Thank you, Sam.”

“Any time,” Sam says quickly. “Is, um, is that all?”

“Yes. I’ll just tell him about the market for now.”

“Cool.”

They fall quiet again, quills scratching away.

Cas talks about the market, as planned, and writes about the Harvest Feast and Charlie’s pants shenanigans, but in the end, he can’t help himself.

_ The last couple of months have felt like forever, to be honest. There are not words for how badly I want the year to be over so you’ll be home again. _

_ However — I have a surprise for you, when you _ _ do come _ _ home, and I look forward to that, as well. I hope you will, too. _

_ Be well, Dean. _

_ Yours,_

_ Cas_

Dean probably won’t appreciate the vagueness — but perhaps, if he spends the rest of the time thinking of the unknown thing in a positive light, he’ll be more receptive to it once Cas explains.

Cas can only hope.

Hope dwindles rather rapidly. Three weeks after their letters post, there’s been no response from Dean, and when Jo’s favorite cranberry apple cobbler is taken off the Christmas menu, it becomes apparent why.

There’s trouble in Eden, and it’s coming to a head.

“Shipping difficulties,” Layla explains, although she looks worried. “The company didn’t elaborate. There’s other things, that usually come through the border — they’re all delayed, or not coming at all. No one knows why.”

All the mail coming from Lettra must travel through Eden, and the day after Layla shares this news, the post arrives.

Eden’s mail service is temporarily shut down, which means — no new letters from Dean, or Anna and Valencia.

Dean’s will be rerouted, will take at least twice as long to reach them, traveling around the border, but Anna and Valencia . . .

Sam moves about in troubled silence for several days, and Cas is not much better.

And though he shouldn’t be surprised, it’s still a shock when, the week before Christmas, a messenger arrives with an urgent announcement.

The border between Lawrence and Eden has been shut down.

“Nothing?” Cas asks, a little sick, and Sam shakes his head, obviously frustrated.

“No inbound or outbound _ anything_. My Dad is livid — there’s been problems with exports and imports for months, but now it’s flat out cut off. I mean, technically, it’s a huge treaty violation, but there’s been nothing from Michael, and the only reason we know the border is closed is because people showed up one day and Eden turned them away without an explanation.” He stares into the library fireplace, a deep frown on his face. “I — if I had to guess, I’d say the treaty is the last thing on their minds.”

“What do you mean?”

He shakes his head.

“I mean — whatever’s going on that had Anna so worried, that had—” He cuts off, swallowing. “That had Val riding out to be there for her — it’s really bad, Cas. For Eden to cut off contact with its allies . . . there’s something wrong. And it’s all within.”

Cas doesn’t know what to say to that. There’s no real news from Eden, with the border shut, and his sister and dear friend are trapped within.

And not for the first time, the only thing Cas can do is _ wait. _

Sam’s suspicions are confirmed; he and Cas halfheartedly celebrate the New Year, only to wake up a few days into January and receive word that Eden is in a civil war.

Lucifer has challenged Michael for the throne — and his supporters are surprisingly many. Lawrence’s spies have no news of the capital, leaving Anna and Valencia’s circumstances unknown, but Michael and Lucifer’s respective armies are clashing all over the countryside.

Halfway through January, the smoke from burning Edenish forests can be seen all the way from the castle.

Sam eavesdrops on council meetings, and even tries to confront John at one point, proposing he send reinforcements.

“Michael’s the king you made the treaty with,” he points out. “Shouldn’t you support him? With Lawrence’s help—”

“Eden is still divided, and I’m not sending my soldiers to prop up a King who can’t defend his right to rule on his own. Besides, if Michael wanted our help, he could have told us a damn thing about his problems in the first place. Instead, he closed the borders without a word. If Eden wants to tear itself apart, so be it. And if Eden wants a different king? I’m sure as hell as not gonna court trouble stopping them.”

“You have to do _something_—”

“I really don’t. Think about it, Sam. Whatever Eden becomes — we’ll have to deal with it when the smoke clears. If Michael hasn’t asked for our help, it’s just as well we don’t volunteer.”

Sam is furious, but there’s nothing they can do.

At the end of February, they finally get a letter from Dean, brought in by the post coming up from the southeastern border.

_I haven’t heard from you guys _ _since you talked about your mysterious ‘surprise’__; last time I posted something, they were turned away at the border. I’m guessing you’re in the same boat over there._

_ Lettra doesn’t know what’s going on — or at least, they’re not telling me about it — _ _but they’ll try and route through Hellenia. There’s still the occasional highwayman/bandit type, but Crowley’s been pretty cooperative, so hopefully we’ll be able to swing it._

_ Thing is — Valencia never came back from Eden, did she? I figure this is why she went in the first place, but — please tell me you guys have heard from her, or your sister. I’m hearing all kinds of crazy shit._

_ If you haven’t, though — promise me you won’t do anything stupid, Cas. Valencia and Anna can both hold their own, and they wouldn’t want you running headfirst into the shitstorm when there isn’t even anything you can do._

_ Besides — I miss home like crazy, and I gotta know you’re there waiting for me, alright? So promise me you will be._

_ And before you get all huffy and indignant, _ _I expect you to make sure Sam doesn’t do anything stupid, either. I know everybody thinks he’s all reasonable and shit, but he’s as crazy as you are, and if he thinks Valencia is in trouble he’s bound to be a fucking moron about it._

_ Anyway. I’m sending you a bottle of perfume. I know you say that’s just how Meg is, but next time she’s bothering you, spritz her in the face with it and I guaran-fucking-tee you she’ll leave you alone._

_ (Spoiler: it smells like that lemon floor polish she hates)._

_ I think that’s it. Seriously, be good and stay put, alright? You mentioned some stuff about sleeping and going to breakfast and training together, and I can’t do that if you get run through trying to make your way to a castle your sister might not even be at._

_ Write me back as soon as you get this. I swear, I’m counting the days, buddy._

_ Dean_

Cas is relieved to hear from Dean, but he’s considerably less happy about how long it took to arrive. Even if Dean’s original letter traveled to the Lettran border and back, it still means going around Eden through Hellenia takes at least twice as long as going through, if not three times.

Having Dean gone is so _difficult, _ this time; Cas doesn’t understand how it can be just as bad as when Dean was actually in danger, but it _is, _ and the idea that he’ll hardly have any letters in the interim is devastating. His solution during the wars was just to write more frequently, whether he’d received a response or not, but the post simply doesn’t _go _through Hellenia that often. There are no urgent tactical messages and military updates to justify a back and forth; Cas’s letters will simply pile up at the border until the next post run, and while that’s not going to stop Cas from doing it, it means he will simply have to wait however long it takes.

As for Dean’s other discouragements . . . he and Sam have already discussed it, at length — it isn’t as though they can do much _else — _and they have reluctantly reached the same conclusion. They’re not stupid; the castle is nearer the Lettran border than Lawrence, if they’re even there, and Eden is vast. Until they receive some kind of update from Anna and/or Valencia, they have poor odds of reaching them on their own.

He supposes he understands Dean’s concerns, though. It took a long time to reach this conclusion; Sam is restless and unhappy, more aggressive in training than Cas has ever seen him, and Cas himself wakes from half-remembered nightmares about his sister.

Curiously, Bela seems troubled, too. She generally turns out for any official social events, and she’s still scheduled to tour the noble houses of Lawrence in the spring, but anything not implicitly required of her, she seems disinterested in.

Lately, though, she’s taken to a strange sort of orbit, curling up in a chair by Cas in the library and favoring their table at dinner. She’s even come to spar with him and Sam in the courtyard in the evenings, and while she’s no match for either of them — “If it comes to a literal fight, you’ve already lost,” she says with a shrug. “Though I’m rather handy with a crossbow, if you insist.” — she’s impressively fleet. It’s clear she’s been trained in _something, _ and Cas suspects that something is _evasion._

On a chilly day in early March, she comes to the library and drops a sheaf of parchment on Castiel’s lap, dropping into the chair by the loveseat without a word.

“What is this?”

“An update from Lettra,” she says shortly, and then pulls a flask out of her pocket, taking a large gulp and grimacing. “God, but I haven’t the faintest idea how she can enjoy this.”

“Enjoy what?” Cas asks, not sure who Bela is talking about and more interested in what she’s drinking.

Bela waves a hand.

“Whiskey.”

“Oh. I’ve never tried it. My sister enjoys it, though,” he adds, and Bela looks away.

“Does she?” she mumbles, and confusingly, takes another drink.

Finally, Cas reaches for the letter, a little afraid. Lawrence’s spies can only travel so far into Eden; the Lettran border is so much closer to the capitol, they doubtless have better intelligence, but Cas has no idea what to expect and a part of him is terrified of the possibilities.

With a deep breath, he smooths out the parchment and starts reading.

“Michael is still holding court,” Cas blurts out, startled, and Bela nods.

“The entire countryside is stained red, and two of the noble houses have been completely obliterated for conspiring against the crown. But he’s still holding court.”

“And they’ve — the army is holding the line West of the capital. But Lucifer’s trying to push through.”

She nods.

“That — my sister must still be at the castle, then.”

“Yes. But — blood is shed there, weekly. He has no idea where everyone’s loyalties lie, and it sounds like they’re changing by the week.” She shakes her head, a bitter cast to her smile. “It’s why he’s still holding court. Keeping your friends and enemies close, and all that. He’s faced three assassination attempts in the last month, that we know of — he’s watching them all like a hawk, and at the slightest hint of treachery . . .”

“He makes an example.” Cas has read countless novels like this, but it’s — it’s different, to think it’s happening in his family. In the place he grew up.

“Precisely.” She stares at the table, and brings the flask to her lips again. “They can’t hold the line forever. The people are tired of the fighting. Lucifer has all the charm Michael doesn’t, and his supporters grow by the day. They intend to lay siege to the castle, of course, and Lucifer doesn’t seem to care whether he deals with the rest of the army first or not. So the only question that remains is who will emerge the victor.”

Cas swallows.

“What’s going to happen?”

“I don’t know, Castiel. That _is _the nature of a question.” The words might be sarcastic, but they come out soft, a hollowness in her expression.

“Do you have family in Eden?” he finds himself asking, suddenly puzzled by her demeanor, both since she sat down and over the last few months.

She tenses, gaze flicking to him and away again.

“No. No, I don’t have anyone.” She clears her throat, standing. “But it will be terribly inconvenient for Lettra if Eden fails to sort themselves out. Certainly, it makes _our _relationship awkward, and I’m supposed to be here for another six months.”

This makes sense, given what he knows of Bela.

But it still feels wrong, and Cas openly studies her, searching for some hint of the truth, in case this isn’t it.

“Oh, stop it,” she huffs. “It’s just unsettling.”

Cas isn’t sure what she’s talking about, but she retrieves her letter from the table and leaves the library without another word.

“Alright, you sad little nerds,” Meg announces, shoving Sam and Cas’s shoulders apart and wedging herself between them where they’re taking lunch on the field. “We’re tired of your moods. Castle gate, tonight, six o’ clock.”

Cas frowns at her.

“Meg, you made part of my sandwich fall out.”

She leers.

“That isn’t the only thing I can make fall out, Clarence.”

There’s a long silence, and she sighs.

“Look, the point is, when was the last time either one of you had a night out on the town? Never, because you’re boring as hell and you’re both practically married. I, however, am just the _bestest _friend, and I’m taking you out. In at least one of the fun ways.”

“What the hell,” Sam utters, and Meg nudges him.

“Don’t bother trying to get out of it,” she says sweetly. “Cas is gonna let me talk him to it, and we all know you’re not gonna stand by and let me corrupt him without supervision.”

Sam scowls.

“That implies I’d let you corrupt him _with _supervision.”

She rolls her eyes.

“Relax, Samantha. We’re just going to go play, take your minds off things. Perfectly innocent.”

Sam frowns, then turns to Cas with a sigh.

“It’s up to you,” he says tiredly. “Do you want to go?”

Cas hesitates.

“I like going into town,” he admits. “It’s interesting. But I don’t want to make you go.”

Sam’s lips quirk.

“Well, she’s not wrong. It’ll probably be good for me.”

“Atta boy!” Meg crows, slapping him on the back. “It’s settled then. See you there.”

By ten o’ clock, Sam is in a _much _better mood, and Cas congratulates himself on a decision well made.

Cas wears his blue flower comb and a discreetly elegant buttoned navy tunic to meet the others at the gate, and he’s pleased to find a number of others from the barracks have joined them. Jo shows up a little late and a little harried, fresh from an argument with Ellen who ‘apparently thinks I’m gonna pack road tools to go into town just so I can pry up every fucking cobblestone and look for trouble under it,’ but they set off in high spirits.

The sun is setting, but the street lanterns are ablaze and a number of vendors are still open as they stroll along the market street, and for the first time in his life, Cas purchases food from a stall.

There are no dishes, or utensils; Cas is forced to eat with his hands, which is unsurprisingly messy, and forlornly starts licking the residue off his fingers in an effort to deal with it.

“Yeah, keep walking,” Sam says stiffly from somewhere to his left, and Cas looks over curiously to see Sam giving a random passerby an alarmingly intense glare.

Sam must be in a very foul mood, indeed, Cas thinks, but then Sam turns to him with a resigned smile and holds out a handkerchief.

“Ah — thank you, Sam. I couldn’t get to mine without getting my tunic dirty.”

“Sure. You can just ask, next time.” He clears his throat. “It’s probably, um, easier, than the other thing.”

“It is,” Cas agrees, carefully wiping his hands. “I should have thought of it sooner.”

“Nah. Usually dinner comes with a napkin.”

Cas smiles briefly, studying him.

“I’m sorry if you didn’t want to come out tonight,” he says. “It sounded nice. Even though Meg was trying to sound obnoxious, she genuinely seemed to think it would make us feel better.”

Sam softens, and he shakes his head.

“Don’t worry about it, Cas. I’m having a pretty good time, actually.”

“If you’re sure.”

Sam holds up a shiny metal trinket that looks like three rings joined together, pinching the ball in the center and starting to spin it.

Cas watches, transfixed, as the metal catches the light and seems to take on a rainbow of colors.

“See?” Sam says, beaming. “I’m having plenty of fun.”

Cas nods slowly, and then makes Sam take him back to the same vendor to buy one, too.

Once Cas’s new treasure is secured in his trouser pocket, they wander on until Meg leads them to a warmly lit tavern at the end of the street, at which point the night begins improving rapidly.

Alcohol tastes _disgusting, _but if you drink it fast enough, Cas has discovered, it definitely has its merits.

They distribute themselves across a few booths, and Cas has barely finished his first drink before someone slides in on Sam’s other side, pretty brown eyes regarding him warmly.

“So, were you gonna ignore me or what?”

“Wh-oh! Hey! Lisa — how are you?”

Cas thinks he’s heard Sam and Dean mention a Lisa, before. She’s a dancer with a son, and she and Dean are friends from before Cas moved here. Though she’s been spoken of a few times, Cas has never really given her much thought.

He gives her some now, though, watching her exchange her greeting with Sam, and decides she’s very pretty.

He wonders if she’s good at making Dean laugh.

“Anyway,” she says, suddenly glancing over to Cas with a sly smile. “It’s great to see you and all, Sam, but what I _really _came over here for was to meet your handsome friend.”

Sam laughs, although Cas doesn’t get the joke, and shakes his head.

“Right. Lisa, this is Cas. Cas, this is Lisa.”

Lisa’s smile falters a little.

“Cas?” She turns back to Sam before Cas can say anything, quizzical. “Not Dean’s Cas?”

“Um? Yeah, what other Cas would I be here with?”

“Oh. Oh, gosh.” She puts a hand to her face, grimacing. “Well, this is embarrassing.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Lisa,” Cas says hastily, and niceties out of the way, asks, “What’s embarrassing?”

She flashes a very different smile than the first one she gives him, scratching her head.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize who you were. Don’t tell Dean I tried to get Sam to hook me up with his cute friend, alright?”

Sam chokes on his drink.

“Wait, you were _serious—_”

“It’s just, when Dean talks about you, he makes you sound so—“ She waves a hand. “Young.”

“Young?” Cas repeats, and she laughs.

“I guess I haven’t seen him for a year or so, but last time I did, he still spoke of you like you were a boy. I mean, _obviously, _I knew you were somewhere in your teens, but — let’s just say, I was picturing you all cute and small.”

Cas frowns, and then slumps against the booth with a huff.

“I see. So he talks about me like I’m a child even when I’m _not _there.”

“How old are you?” she asks, curious, then adds, wry, “How bad should I feel right now?”

“I’ll be twenty in September,” he informs her, trying not to be curt. He’s aware that Dean will probably not stop doing this until Cas defeats him in combat, but it’s still incredibly annoying.

“Twenty?” She gives him an appraising look, then sort of smiles to herself. “Oh, Dean. You _idiot._”

Sam clears his throat.

“Well, it was _really _nice to see you, Lisa—”

“Loyal as ever, Sam,” she says dryly, but there’s a twinkle in her eye. “Alright, I’ll go cause trouble somewhere else. Next round’s on me.”

“You don’t have to—” he starts, and she smiles, patting his cheek.

“I insist. It was a pleasure to meet you, Cas. Too bad you’re married,” she adds, winking, and he puzzles over this for a moment before he remembers that she called him handsome.

He’s so used to Pamela and Donna and others teasingly saying such things, he didn’t think anything of it, but if he understands her ‘hook up’ comment correctly —

“Oh,” he says, speechless, and a little embarrassed.

Although — not displeased.

“Oh, my God,” she sighs, pressing a hand to her chest. “How does he resist?”

“Because he’s an idiot, but he’s not the only one,” Sam says desperately, nudging her hip a little with his elbow. “So _please _leave it be.”

“Alright, alright.” She lifts her hands, the laughter evident in her eyes. “I hope I see you two around more. Have a nice night.”

With a wave, Lisa departs, and Cas fidgets with his empty glass.

“She seemed nice,” he offers, and Sam gives him a wry look.

“Yeah? Are you sure you’re not just saying that because she thinks you’re _handsome_?”

Cas lowers his eyes.

“I would never let such a thing color my judgment.”

Sam laughs, then, full and happy and echoing through the tavern, and Cas lightly kicks him under the table, shaking his empty glass.

“Enough, Sam,” he admonishes sternly. “We need more drinks.”

The next few hours are a blur of laughter and stakes-less card games and, as the hour grows later and the drinks keep flowing, occasional bouts of clumsy dancing.

Cas feels lighter than he has in days — nearly as good as when he gets a letter from Dean — and although that may be less an emotional lightness than an actual physical symptom of the alcohol, Cas enjoys it nonetheless.

Besides, every time Cas is taking a break from the games and ends up alone at one of the tables, the strangest thing happens.

Someone comes up to Cas and starts talking to him, and the first thing they usually tell him is how beautiful he is, or how much they like his flower comb and how it brings out his pretty eyes.

One person even tells him he smells really nice, and asks if he’s mated. Puzzled, Cas tells him no, and the man whistles, shaking his head and saying, “Their loss.”

But then Sam comes back with more drinks and simply stares at the man until he grows uncomfortable and gets up, and since Sam has another mug of the red drink that doesn’t taste as bad as some of the others, Cas forgets to ask him about it.

“People are very friendly when they’ve been drinking,” he informs Sam a half hour later, after he returns from a game of darts and shoos the latest stranger away from their table.

“Yeah?” Sam smiles, but he looks a little worried. “You know, if you don’t want to talk to people, you can tell them to go away. Or just — glower at them until they leave.”

Cas is surprised.

“I could, but that would be rude. They’re all being extremely nice to me. That was the sixth person tonight to tell me I’m attractive. And they keep offering to buy me drinks, which is confusing, since I clearly already have one, but I suppose it’s the thought that counts.”

Sam bites his lip.

“Yeah, I guess so. Um. So — so the thing is, Cas, these people are — well, they _are _really nice, I’m sure, but they’re also flirting with you.”

Cas blinks.

“Like Meg does?” To the best of his knowledge, Meg is the only person who flirts with him. And he didn’t even realize that was what she did sometimes until Dean complained about it.

“Um. Sort of? Except Meg doesn’t _mean _anything by it, she’s just having fun. And some of these people are probably the same. But they also might be interested in other things, so . . . if you want to talk, and have fun, go for it, but if someone asks you to, um, to take a walk, or go upstairs with them, um. Say no, okay?”

Cas tilts his head.

“Well, obviously. I’m enjoying spending time with you and the others. Though a couple of people have asked if I wanted to get some fresh air, and I admit, it’s a little tempting. I don’t want to miss anything in here, though.”

Sam vigorously shakes his head.

“Yeah, no, that’s — that’s good. Don’t go anywhere with anyone. Even if they’re harmless, they, um.” Sam makes a face. “Actually, you know what? You’re almost twenty. I’m gonna be honest with you, Cas. Those people want to go outside with you to make out. Or do — well, bedroom things. Yeah. That’s — that’s pretty much it.”

Sam nods to himself, though Cas can only stare in horror.

“What?” he says blankly, and Sam shrugs.

“It’s, um, it’s a thing that happens in taverns. You should probably know that. But don’t sweat it, man — most people will back off when it becomes clear you’re not interested.”

“All these people have been talking to me because they want to do _bedroom things _with me?” he asks, incredulous, and Sam nods, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Pretty much.”

Cas lets that sink in for a moment, and then scowls.

“I must be more attractive than I thought.”

Sam huffs a laugh, startled.

“I gue—”

“Why on earth won’t Dean let me help him with his erections?” Cas bites out, vexed. “Clearly, the problem isn’t _me._”

Sam blinks.

“Um.”

“I knew he was unreasonable. I _knew _ it.” Cas shakes his head. “I love Dean, but I don’t understand why he has to be so — so damned _difficult._”

“Well, Dean is . . . Dean,” Sam says weakly, and Cas huffs.

“You don’t need to defend him to me, Sam. I’m aware of his strengths and weaknesses both, and this is a _terrible_ weakness. _You _ would never behave this way. If I were married to _you, _you’d probably let me assist you without a second thought.” Cas frowns as soon as he says it, though. Sam is Cas’s best friend, but the idea of helping him with his erections is . . .

_Terribly _unappealing. In fact, Cas feels a little guilty at how unappealing he finds it.

“Uhhh . . . no, actually, no, I wouldn’t, and also, I’m really, really not drunk enough for this conversation.”

“I apologize, Sam. I thought about it just now, and even if we were married, I — I don’t think I’d want to help you with that.”

“Awesome,” Sam says brightly, though he looks deeply pained.

“Sorry,” Cas says again, and Sam firmly shakes his head.

“Yeah, no, don’t be.” He stands, clapping Cas on the shoulder. “Right, good talk. I’m getting more drinks.”

Another person comes to tell Cas how pretty he and his flowers are while Sam is gone, but this time, Cas is a lot less friendly.

On the one hand, Cas wants to raise all this interest as proof that Dean is being unnecessarily difficult about the sex issue, because obviously, Cas is more than acceptable to a number of people.

But on the other hand, Cas’s brain now unhelpfully considers doing bedroom things with all the people who’ve come to talk to him, and if Dean feels half as gross as this when he thinks about doing those things with _Cas _—

Well, he thinks, sighing grumpily. He can hardly blame Dean for turning him down.

Bobby discovers the lot of them sprawled across Sam’s room sometime after noon the next day, but there must have been an adequate number of people, because the only thing any of them get in trouble for is late-night carousing and making a racket on their way back in, only to skip training in the morning.

Layla still has breakfast warming in the kitchen though, because ‘_everyone _heard you come in late.’

Cas feels much, much worse than he did last night — and judging by the queasiness in Sam’s face and his bloodshot eyes, he’s in the same boat — but a part of him still thinks it would be fun to do it again sometime.

Just — not right away.

March drags on, after that. Bela remains an enigma throughout the month, keeping strangely close and seeming almost as though she has something she wants to say, though she never actually says it. Still, Cas doesn’t mind; she doesn’t mention Eden’s affairs again, but he has a strange sense that she, too, is waiting, and for whatever reason, it provides him a small amount of comfort.

And then one night, she comes to dinner utterly expressionless and positively reeking of fury, so much so that it burns away the cloying floral of her Lettran perfume and leaves Cas alternately wary and confused.

Anger is always sharp, acrid, an unpleasant shade of its owner’s usual scent, making it generally useless for identifying someone’s true scent.

But there are always traces, and there’s something about Bela’s that doesn’t quite sit right with Cas’s. It’s not off-putting; really, there’s not even enough of it present beneath the rage for Cas to pick out the layers.

Still, there’s _something _ there_, _something that draws his attention, and when dinner ends and he still hasn’t figure out what it is, frustration has overtaken his curiosity at her mood.

Sam sleeps in the castle far more often, now, whether as a comfort to himself or to Cas, Cas isn’t sure. They’ve managed a few clandestine sleepovers, shamelessly staying up into the wee hours reading — but tonight, they part ways at the end of the hall, and Cas returns to Dean’s room to wash and prepare for bed.

He’s just pulling out a clean pair of pajamas when the door opens, and Bela quickly slips into the room, noiselessly shutting the door behind her.

“Uh,” Cas says, taken aback, and Bela stalks to one of the great wingback armchairs by the little table, gracefully settling into it and folding her arms.

“Good evening,” she says.

“It’s nighttime,” he counters, tilting his head. “Bedtime, if you will. Why are you here?”

She looks at him, expression unreadable, and it feels like minutes pass before she finally speaks.

“You,” she starts slowly. “Should pack a bag.”

Cas blinks.

“A bag,” he repeats.

“Yes. Or a trunk, whatever your preferred luggage is, but ideally, you could carry it on your back.”

Cas tries and fails to determine the origin of this train of thought, and eventually goes to take the seat across from her.

“I don’t understand.”

She sighs.

“No, I don’t suppose you do. _Probably, _ I’m being paranoid. Certainly, I’m being a _fool,_” she adds darkly, and reaches up, smoothing her hair back. “The Queen of Lettra is coming to visit in a month.”

“Oh.” Throughout the years Cas has been here, various royalty and diplomats have stayed in the castle. Michael had visitors even more frequently, when Cas lived in Eden. He supposes it’s interesting that the Queen would visit now, when the situation in Eden will make her trip so difficult, but he’s at a loss as to why Bela is telling him about it, at this hour of the night, no less. “I . . . still don’t understand.”

She sighs.

“The situation in Eden is not resolved.”

“No,” he says, a little sadly, and she looks pained.

“It seems to be falling apart from within. We spoke of victors once, Castiel,” she says carefully. “Though I’m beginning to wonder if they might not drive themselves to ruin first.”

“I — surely it won’t come to that.”

“I hope not. Everyone hopes not.” She clears her throat. “In fact, some of them might even wish to intervene.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?” Cas asks, confused. “If they could help stop the fighting—”

“Castiel,” she says sharply, holding his gaze. “When you give a child a valuable toy, and it looks like they might destroy it, what do you do?”

Cas blinks, suddenly chilled.

“You — well. I imagine you take it away.”

“Yes.”

He nods slowly.

“And — you think Eden is the toy.”

“I do.”

“And the people who would interfere — they have a mind to take it before my brothers end up destroying it. And — your Queen is one of them?”

“Clever boy,” she says quietly, and Cas’s hands curl into fists. “Of course, there are no guarantees. No one’s said it outright. It’s been a long time since she’s met with King John, so perhaps it’s merely a coincidence. It could even be that they want to discuss how to stop the unrest from bleeding over, or how to develop trade and travel through Hellenia, now that Eden’s done what it has.”

“But you don’t think so.”

She shrugs.

“I did tell you I was paranoid.”

Unfortunately, Bela makes an alarming amount of sense.

“And you want me to pack a bag so — what? Should I go to Eden? Try to—”

“God, no!” she exclaims, appalled. “There’s no point to that. You should pack a bag because these are dangerous times, and paranoia aside, Lawrence’s relationship with Eden is in pieces and _that — _that changes things.”

“What things?”

“Things, Castiel. Things like your place here.”

“I — what do you mean?”

She pauses.

“The treaty is in tatters because of the war, Castiel. The only part of it that remains intact is your marriage to Dean.”

“Alright?”

“A marriage which hasn’t even produced any heirs, though at this point, I’m not sure it would matter if it had.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying, that this auspicious visit from my venerable Queen happens on the eve of her daughter’s twentieth birthday.” She gives him a meaningful look. “Children come of age at twenty, in Lettra. Princess Antonia will be eligible for marriage.”

Cas blinks.

It takes him a minute, a very long minute, and if he and Dean hadn’t had that talk before Dean left, Cas might not have figured it out.

If Dean hadn’t pointed out that they weren’t really married, that there were still things that could break the alliance, Cas wouldn’t understand what Bela was saying at all.

But he’s spent the last six months peripherally anxious over it, and he does.

“The king could break the treaty the rest of the way,” he chokes out, and thinks he sees a flash of pity in her eyes. “He could — he could send me away. And make Dean—”

_Make Dean marry someone else._

“With any luck, time will prove me a madwoman,” she says softly, though even he can see she doubts it. “But just in case — pack a bag, Castiel. Something you can grab quickly.”

“If they’re going to make me leave, I don’t know why I’d simplify the process,” he retorts, bitter and so, so very afraid.

She hesitates, and then abruptly stands.

“Indeed. Still — promise me you’ll do it. And then put it somewhere discreet, under the bed or in the wardrobe or what-have-you.”

Cas doesn’t understand, doesn’t see the point, but Bela’s eyes are serious and absent of all the usual pretense and calculation, so once she’s bid him good night, he does.

And after that, he lies awake, thoughts racing well into the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A couple of notes:  
1) The conversation regarding the different options for men and women in Lawrence is not meant to be a statement about gender issues anywhere in the real world. Lawrence doesn't have much in the way of gender roles, despite some implied superficial holdouts; obviously, most places are not nearly that progressive in real life, and this conversation's meaning is applicable solely to this fictional world.
> 
> 2) Ellen's remark about bravery is specific to this situation; there is no glory in making yourself do something you neither want to or have to, and if you genuinely have no interest in or are afraid of something, it makes perfect sense not to try it. That comment was meant to be encouragement for Cas, but generally speaking, no one should feel bad about not being interested in a thing, whether most people seem to think it's normal or not. If you're on the ace spectrum, especially, I know it can be easy to feel pressure to try/enjoy things like 'most' people, but it's totally okay to not want to or, like Cas, to take your time figuring these things out with respect to your own comfort levels. Being true to and looking out for yourself is also an act of bravery.


	12. Part XII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: **attempted rape/non-con**; the actual scene will be marked with ** at the beginning and end, and the bulk of the aftermath is marked by && at the beginning and end. These scenes are summarized in the chapter end notes, if you think you may want to skip them. **Mentions of trafficking** (see end notes for details), **violence** (aside from the previously mentioned scene, there is a fairly detailed fight which culminates in some deaths. This scene is also marked by ** at the beginning and end, and a summary is given in the end notes). Please let me know if I missed anything.

Bela doesn’t mention their conversation again, though she still seems to hover, and Cas doesn’t even bother wondering if he dreamed the whole thing up. The whole castle knows the Queen of Lettra is coming, and Cas awaits the end of April with a terrible sense of foreboding.

There’s still no news of Anna and Valencia, and to make matters worse, it’s now been two months since they’ve received a letter from Dean. The post explains that according to Lettra, they’ve been having difficulties with all the mail clearing the border, although Lawrence’s mail service has had no trouble at all on their half of the journey.

Something about that feels wrong, though at this point, Cas knows he’s being increasingly paranoid. He’s lain awake many nights, trying to figure out how to secure his position here — he’s still in shock that it’s even in jeopardy — but the only solution he can come up with isn’t really a full solution at all; he thinks if Dean could come home, if Cas could confide in him, Dean would know what to do. As it is, _without _Dean here . . . Cas can think of nothing.

Still, Cas is afraid to write about his fears and Bela’s suspicions; he tries to, several times, telling himself he’s read too many novels and he could use Dean’s advice, but he can’t bring himself to do it. And without any word from Dean, he can’t be sure his own letters have even made it there.

It’s all very disheartening. Sam doesn’t say anything, but Cas thinks he must be able to scent his distress, because he sticks even closer to Cas than usual. Despite the risks, he stays in Dean’s room with Cas a few times a week, doing his best to make him laugh as they get ready for bed and bringing him breakfast when Cas sleeps late because he stayed up reading, though Sam must be just as tired.

Bela seeks Cas out in the library, quietly warning him that Princess Antonia will actually be _accompanying _the Queen, and Sam is apparently feeling so protective that when he comes in to find them speaking in hushed tones, he all but chases her off.

She seems frustrated, but stiffly bids them a good evening and leaves.

“Was she bothering you?” Sam asks, brow furrowed, and Cas swallows his frustration at being unable to continue the discussion, although the news mostly speaks for itself.

“No. We were just — chatting about books.”

Sam looks doubtful, lingering traces of aggression in his scent, but Cas returns to his book and pretends not to notice. He’s sorry if his upset has created tension between Sam and Bela, but he decides that’s better than burdening Sam with a problem he can’t do anything about, either.

Sam is suffering enough, Cas thinks. And while Cas suspects his attentiveness to Cas in some ways helps him cope, as well, Cas doesn’t think knowing about this will.

So Cas doesn’t tell Sam, and Sam continues to hover and try to distract him with trips to the market and absurd books from the library and even an eventful baking session with Layla, and Cas —

Well, Cas just tries to remember what Dean said before he left. Dean promised that he would come home, and they would sleep and eat and train together, and most importantly, that they would _always _ be married; that they would be married until they _died._

Cas has faith in Dean, so until then — he waits.

And if entertaining the occasional fantasy of ridding himself of the problem of Princess Antonia via ritual combat offers some measure of comfort — well.

Cas would never actually _do _it.

Cas _is_ the Crown Prince’s husband, so he puts on his nicest clothing — and defiantly adds the flower comb, because he _does _have very nice eyes, thank you, and the idea that anyone would find Princess Antonia fairer when Cas is sure he is superior in all other respects makes him burn with fury — and joins the King and his council in greeting their Lettran guests.

_Cold, _ is really the only word that comes to mind as he watches King John exchange pleasantries. Princess Antonia murmurs a brief greeting and is otherwise not called upon to speak, but there’s something about her eyes, about her whole _demeanor, _that gives Cas unpleasant chills.

Her mother is even worse; King John presents Sam, and then introduces Cas as an Edenish Prince with nary a mention of his connection to Dean, and something ugly twists inside him at the way the Queen of Lettra looks him over.

It’s dismissive and calculating all at once, and the fear he’s battled the last several weeks seems to magnify tenfold.

In that moment, Cas is sure Bela is not paranoid at all.

“That was — weird,” Sam says, once the Lettrans have left for their chambers. The pair of them retreat to the library, since training is canceled for the day. “I mean — I kind of thought it was weird, that they’re coming here now, in the first place — but it made sense. With Eden the way it is . . . she and Dad probably have things to discuss. But _that — _that was weird.”

Cas doesn’t look at him, clenching his fists.

“I don’t like them.”

“Me either,” Sam agrees, sounding troubled. “I mean, I’m not a huge fan of Bela, but they’re even worse.”

“Bela’s actually very likable, I think,” Cas defends her — stressful as it’s been, Cas is glad she warned him — and Sam frowns.

“Yeah,” he mutters, and they fall into contemplative silence.

After a moment, Sam speaks.

“I thought — there was something — I don’t know. It was weird. The way the Queen looked at you. Wasn’t it?”

Cas swallows.

“I thought so, too,” he agrees cautiously, and Sam nods.

“I’m not sure what it was, but — just, the whole thing is _off. _I hope they don’t stay long.”

Cas hopes so, too, but Bela visits him in his room that night and informs him the party will be staying a minimum of two weeks, and that Cas should be on his guard.

“None of them are to be trusted, not for you,” she insists. “Avoid them, if you can. And don’t — don’t _accept _anything, from anyone. And try not to wander off on your own, as you tend to do.”

“I do not,” he protests. Bela is clearly agitated, though she’s keeping very still, and it’s making Cas even more anxious. “Sam is almost always with me.”

“Well, make it _always, _period, and perhaps you’ll stand a chance.”

“Against _what_?” he asks, but she just shakes her head.

“If you didn’t pack a bag when I told you to, I recommend you do it now. You may need it. And don’t mention any of this to Sam. He’ll almost certainly try to intercede on your behalf, and I have no idea what trouble it will cause.”

She leaves, after that, and Cas barely has time to panic — could things really happen so quickly? Surely, they’d wait until Dean came back, and then Dean would stop it, somehow — before Sam is knocking at his door, mood strange.

“Do you — is there something you want to tell me, Cas?” he asks, after twenty minutes of troubled silence, and Cas hesitates.

“No,” he says, although he desperately wants to tell Sam, now that the Queen is actually _here _and Bela seems to think his eviction will be imminent.

Sam looks frustrated and worried and disappointed, and Cas feels like a terrible friend — but still, he keeps his worries to himself.

The Lettrans’ visit is terribly uncomfortable, though Cas doesn’t even have to try to avoid them; the Queen spends a great deal of time in the council room, and Princess Antonia keeps to her chambers, though she and her mother dine with the king and council every evening.

Halfway through the second week, Sam is invited to join them; Castiel is not.

Sam returns from the meal deeply unsettled.

“Why is Princess Antonia even _here_?” he wonders aloud. “And — it was bizarre. She hardly leaves her room, and she doesn’t give anyone in the castle the time of day — but she was making every effort to charm Dad.”

It’s all Cas can do to hold his tongue, and Sam suddenly stiffens, horror in his eyes.

“Oh, God. He’s not — he wouldn’t make me marry her, would he? He knows I’m — that I — and he never said it was a problem, but — he wouldn’t, would he?”

Cas shrugs helplessly, and doesn’t need to look to see that Sam hardly reads two pages in his book that night.

He doubts that is the true explanation for Princess Antonia’s presence (though even if it is, it’s not much better than the alternative). Cas feels he knows enough about the Queen, at this point, to know she’s unlikely to wed her daughter to anyone other than Lawrence’s heir.

To make matters worse, there’s still no letter from Dean. It’s the longest Cas has ever gone without hearing from him, and as the Lettrans’ visit enters its third week, Cas finds himself waking each morning, stomach in knots.

And then, one night toward the end of May, Cas wakes with a start, rolling out of the way just as a hand tries to cover his mouth.

He scrambles out of the bed, blindly groping for a weapon, and freezes when he hears Bela hiss his name.

“_Castiel._”

“Bela?” he clarifies, eyes adjusting to the darkness, and indeed, the silhouette looks familiar.

“Yes. I see your training has served you well, which is excellent news, because we need to leave. _Now._”

“Leave?” he echos, adrenaline still coursing through him. “What do you mean?”

“I mean you need to get dressed, collect your bag, and come with me.”

“Come with you _where_?”

“Oh, for God’s sake,” she mutters. “You’re as much trouble as she said. We need to leave Lawrence, Castiel. I will be happy to tell you more once we are on our way, but for right now, I would very much appreciate it if you _hurried._”

Cas stubbornly remains still.

“You’ll tell me now. Why are we leaving? And for how long?”

“Indefinitely, and if you really insist, we are _leaving _ because my Queen wants you _dead._”

Their breathing is uncomfortably loud in the silence that follows.

“Dead,” Castiel finally says, oddly numb. “That. That seems — uh. Drastic.”

“Yes, well, we’re all more dramatic than we let on. Now will you please get dressed before I come to my senses?”

Cas forces himself to go to the wardrobe, though he’s not at all sure he should go anywhere.

“How do you know that, Bela?”

There’s a long silence, and then a moment later, the curtain is drawn over the window, shutting out the moonlight.

And then Bela strikes a match, lighting a small candle. With her other hand, she holds out a vial.

“I know that,” she says slowly, “Because I’m the one who’s supposed to kill you.”

Cas doesn’t know what to say to that. A part of him wants to be suspicious, wants to think on it, wants to go wake Sam —

But another part of him knows, in his gut, what must be done.

So he does it.

For the first few hours, they’re silent.

The guards are sleeping when they reach the gate, and Cas doesn’t bother asking, just follows Bela’s silent command to help her lift once she’s unlocked it and tossed the keys.

They slip under the hard-won gap, and though it’s a struggle, lower it slowly and quietly behind them. From there, it’s not far to the horses Bela has prepared a short distance into the woods.

Cas is beginning to feel a little overwhelmed at this point, more unsure than he was an hour ago and suddenly deeply concerned about what might await him — about what he might be _leaving — _but the castle is already behind them and there are people in it who want him dead, and the only way out seems to be forward.

Still, the longer they ride and the night drags on, the more Cas begins to doubt.

“If you were supposed to — kill me,” he starts, once they’ve passed deep into woods and silence stretches on for miles in their wake, “Then why are we leaving? Why not — tell the King?”

Bela glances back, face inscrutable in the dark.

“Do you understand what was happening? Why the Queen was here?”

Cas frowns at the lack of answer.

“Of course. She’s hoping to negotiate an agreement with Lawrence, since the situation with Eden is uncertain. And according to you, having the King denounce my — my marriage — isn’t enough. She wants to kill me?”

“Yes.”

“But if you told the King—”

“Can we be certain it would be news to him?” she interrupts, though her horse’s pace doesn’t slow. “If I thought the King would send her and her daughter away, with the force of Lawrence’s army behind that command, I would have taken my vial and gone straight to _him. _ But the Queen was _invited. _Your King is well aware of what’s at stake; the fact that she’s here at all means he’s considering it.”

Cas takes a moment to process this.

“You think the King may be part of the plot,” he finally says, and she shrugs.

“That, or he won’t care either way. Lettra, on its own, hasn’t nearly as much to offer as Eden. But the agreement isn’t about trade at all; the marriage isn’t even the bulk of it. The _real _agreement would be a joint invasion of Eden, and Antonia’s marriage to Dean? Insurance for Lettra. We are, after all, a good deal smaller, and we have many of the same exports as Lawrence. The marriage — and the heirs it produces — are for us, not the King.”

_The marriage. _It’s irrational, but the idea of Dean marrying Antonia makes Cas regret leaving the castle, as if by staying, he’d be holding his ground in every sense of the word.

“Wouldn’t the King be angry at the deception?” Michael would. Michael hates being lied to; his pride won’t allow it.

“That isn’t how King John operates. If he’s prepared to denounce the marriage, Castiel, it means he’s done with you. If anything, your demise means one less thing to worry about — and that’s still assuming he’s not a part of it. It’s well known across the continent that the princes are fond of you; if you’re dead, there’s not exactly going to be any push back, is there?”

Cas swallows.

“I suppose not. Even if I’m not,” he continues, despair creeping in, “There’s a good chance Dean will do as his father says.”

_He might not, _ a part of Cas points out. _He’s disobeyed for your sake, before. He could do it again._

Of course, however Dean feels, it won’t matter if Cas is dead by the time he returns.

“But why does the _Queen _ want me dead?” he continues, increasingly confused . “King John has long been frustrated with — with Dean and me. And you said yourself — the treaty is beyond repair. Does she really think she needs to _kill _me to get him to agree to something new? Isn’t him inviting her here good enough?”

“For the Queen? No, nothing is ever good enough. Any threat to her goal, no matter how small it is, is to be eliminated.”

“If Dean and I are — if we’re no longer married, if she and the King come to an agreement, what threat could I possibly pose?”

There’s a long silence, long enough that Cas bristles, preparing for a lie. He _knew _he was too hasty — he should have woken Sam, should have ignored Bela when she told him it was better if he didn’t know —

“Heirs, Castiel,” she finally says, and Castiel nearly pulls up short. “I . . . have gathered, since arriving in Lawrence, that this is not a subject you are yet concerned with. The same cannot be said of others. I don’t know how much you understand about such things, but at the end of the day, heirs are nearly synonymous with the marriage; without them, the union itself means very little.”

“I see.” Cas is not surprised. He’s not happy, either, but as the years have passed, he’s come to realize that heirs matter much more than he ever would have thought, more than anyone mentioned before they gave him to Dean. “But how could I possibly threaten that? If — if Dean _does _ marry her daughter, then I’m — irrelevant. She should be preoccupied with _their _heirs.”

It’s strange. It’s bad enough to think of not being married to Dean, of Dean marrying someone else — _especially _ Antonia, who is as cold as Cas first perceived her, who he can’t possibly imagine making Dean smile very often, if at all — but somehow the thought of Dean having heirs with someone else manages to make it _worse._

Cas doesn’t even _want _children right now. He wouldn’t know what to do with them.

But he still doesn’t want Dean having them with someone else. Dean was — Dean was supposed to _wait _ for him. Dean wasn’t ready either, after all; Cas has come to think of it as something they were united in their present opposition to, and a future milestone they would reach _together._

It’s certainly not a thing for King John or Queen Hess or the humorless Princess Antonia to force Dean into before he’s ready.

“Right. And I’m sure she will be. However . . .” Bela pauses. “You and Dean have been married. You were married _first. _ If he does sire children with you, even if it isn’t until _after _the marriage is dissolved, according to Lawrencian law, they remain contenders to the throne.”

“After?” Cas echoes, blinking, and Bela coughs.

“It’s well known how attached to you he is. There are rumors in town that you’ve either secretly mated or intend to mate. The Edenish royal family is known for their looks, and they certainly haven’t passed you over. If you remain in Lawrence, even if the King uses the situation with Eden to dissolve your marriage, it’s not — improbable, that the Prince would have you as a consort.”

Cas doesn’t even know where to _begin _with that.

“We’re not mated,” he settles on, neck warm.

“So you’ve said. But the Queen would never count on gossip staying gossip.”

“Oh.” Cas clears his throat. “Well. I don’t think that would happen. The, uh. The — consort. Thing.”

“Well, whether it does or doesn’t,” Bela starts, sounding vaguely amused, “The fact that it _could _is enough, as I’ve told you. And besides; your marriage isn’t new. You’ve been in Lawrence — what? Six years? You’re rather well-liked, Castiel. So long as you’re still there, Princess Antonia will undoubtedly face divided loyalties. Those divisions may only be encouragement for Dean to carry on with you. None of it is good for securing her or her children’s position there. It’s only natural the Queen would want you gone.”

“Still,” he mumbles, hunching in a little. “Killing me — it seems excessive.”

Bela snorts.

“Oh, not for Queen Hess. Trust me, if murder doesn’t cause more problems than it solves, she considers it a perfectly legitimate solution.”

Cas can’t help himself.

“Have you — before this, has she made you . . .”

Bela is quiet for several moments.

“I have never hurt someone who did not deserve it,” she says eventually.

“And you believe you’re in a position to judge that.”

“This is how the game is played, Castiel,” she returns, sharp. “And you cannot imagine the things some people will do. You are little more than a _child_, and you have grown up cherished by a castle full of people who would never do you or one another harm. Do not presume to understand the way the world outside it works.”

Cas bristles at the accusation.

“And do you always choose a coward’s weapon?”

Bela laughs, dry and unimpressed.

“You’re training to be a _knight_. You do as your monarch commands, and that is that. I’ve seen you, sparring with your fellows, with men and women older and bigger than you. You’re better than all of them. And when you face a foe from another country, a foe who could never dream of receiving the quality of training you’ve enjoyed in Lawrence — is it not cowardly, to meet them in battle without any handicap, when you have every advantage of skill?”

“I — that—”

“And to the other point! The people — the _monsters — _ I have dealt with are fools if they make themselves vulnerable, knowing what things they have done. What enemies they might have made. Perhaps we don’t battle with swords, but we all understand how the battle works, and it’s not as different as you might think. It’s certainly not _worse._”

He presses his lips together, frustrated and searching for the fault in her logic — and then realizes something very important.

Cas is alive and riding away from potential danger, theoretically because Bela did not slip him poison, after all.

“What about you?” he asks suddenly.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Won’t your Queen be angry? When she finds me gone?”

“_Obviously,_ ” she retorts, bitter. “And given your penchant for _argument, _ you contrary little _troublemaker, _ I begin to wonder at my morals. Perhaps I should have tried harder to _shed _them.”

Despite their disagreement — and Bela’s unnecessary name-calling — Cas finds himself suddenly worried.

“What will she do to you?”

“Are you mad? If I have my way, _nothing__._”

“But you can’t possibly conceal it from her—”

“Of course not. How naive _are _ you?” she demands, incredulous. “There will be no question, in the morning, of what I’ve done. When Sam finds that cryptic little note you insisted on leaving and _you_ fail to come to breakfast and perish of heart attack by lunch, and _I _am nowhere to be found — even a fool will be able to put it together. There’s no going back for me, Castiel.”

“What do you mean?”

She sighs.

“I have a _very _ beautiful estate in Lettra. It’s not a castle, but it’s massive, and it’s full of lovely things I’m rather fond of.” She huffs. “And now that odious distant cousin of mine will have it for herself, because if I _ever _step foot in Lettra again, it will be a few steps more to meet my fate.”

Cas’s stomach drops.

“You can’t go home.” He swallows. “Ever.”

“No. No, I cannot.”

“Where will you go?”

“Excellent question. Luckily for _you, _I have a plan, and so long as no one catches up to us before we reach the border — well, and we’re not brutally murdered by bandits — it should see us reasonably safe and secure for however long we need it.”

“Which border?”

“We’re going to Hellenia, Castiel.”

Castiel starts.

“We’re seeking refuge in Hellenia? But I thought — Lettra isn’t on very good terms with them. The only reason it can be used as an alternative route is because of the treaty with Lawrence.”

“Yes, well, there are other arrangements one can make, and so long as one isn’t disloyal to their crown, there isn’t any harm in pursuing one’s own interests.” She sniffs. “Besides. Something like this was bound to happen, eventually. Obviously, I needed a backup plan.”

They ride in silence for several minutes while Cas digests this. _Hellenia. _ It’s so _far — _ so _foreign. _ What is Cas even going to _do _there?

“And me? Will I ever . . .” he trails off, half-afraid to finish the question, but Bela understands.

“I don’t know,” she tells him, barely audible, and nothing more is said.

They travel the first week without incident. Disconcertingly, Bela introduces them as a married couple when they pass through a town, but no one seems particularly interested in them after that.

“No one pays attention to married couples,” Bela informs him. “They’re all terrified of being dragged into the drama. It’s much better to pretend we don’t exist.”

He’s relieved to find that Bela appears to have brought plenty of money for their journey, though they don’t ever stay in the towns, stopping only for food or other supplies before moving on. Bela complains at length about having to sleep outside, though Cas doesn’t mind it so much, but she maintains that the less they’re seen, the better.

“Even if King John is happy to let you go,” she explains, “The Queen will send someone. She’ll want to punish me and get rid of you. We must be as careful as we can until we reach the border, and even then . . .”

Cas briefly entertains the idea that Bela’s tricked him into leaving Lawrence, inventing the murder plot to ensure his cooperation, but it doesn’t take him long to dismiss it. He supposes it’s not impossible that the Queen is put off by the idea of killing him, and thinks that if she removes him to Hellenia, that will be adequate protection against any threat he poses — but he really _isn’t _as naive as Bela thinks.

No, if the Queen were going to go through _that _ much effort — if she were going to make _Bela _go through that much effort — she’d probably be just as happy to poison his breakfast and have the affair be done with.

It’s a sobering thought, and though he remains anxious about having left like that, he awkwardly thanks Bela for sparing him.

“Yes, well. The Princes Winchester have their own reputations; I don’t know that I’m more afraid of my Queen than I am of them.”

Cas has been steadily getting to know Bela over the last several months, and he’s made significant progress this week alone; he’s reasonably certain that meant ‘you’re welcome.’

Sometimes, when they settle down at night and he listens to the crickets and the soft whisper of leaves and his mind won’t seem to rest, he worries. And while he worries during the day, about where they’re going, about what Hellenia will be like, about whether Bela’s plan is as good as it needs to be, about whether they’re being hunted and about what will happen if they’re caught — at night, he mostly worries about whether or not he’ll ever see the castle again.

It takes him a long time to fall asleep those nights.

One morning, nearly two weeks into the journey, finds them riding just within the trees, following a narrow river which Bela says should lead them straight over the border into Hellenia. Cas has had a bad night, and he’s tired, and Bela is clearly sick of travel and sleeping outside, muttering under her breath about poor life decisions, and they’re due to break for food soon, making them both lethargic and irritable.

Because of that, and because of the relative quiet that has followed them these weeks, Cas isn’t paying as much attention as he should.

**

Bela barely keeps her seat, shoulder thrown back by the dagger that flies into it, and Cas urges his own horse forward to steady her, eyes scanning the trees for the source. To her credit, there’s barely a delay before she straightens back out, neatly bringing her horse to a halt, steadying the mare and sticking close.

After a moment, dark-clad figures emerge from behind several trees, and Cas’s hand hovers over his blade, waiting for the right moment as he carefully looks them over, searching for cues. The party seems relaxed, sauntering toward them with amusement and hungry speculation both.

“Was that really necessary?” one of them asks, shaking her head. “She’s a pretty thing, and you’ve gone and damaged her.”

“Thank you,” Bela says dryly. “State your business.”

“Ain’t really in a position to be making demands,” another fellow says with a snort, twirling a little dagger that looks a match to the one embedded in Bela’s shoulder. They don’t seem ready to attack again, so Cas spares a quick glance to the wound, frustrated with his lack of practical experience with such things.

“Are you alright?” he asks lowly, and she nods.

“I’ll live. Well, probably.”

“What’re you two lovelies doin’ this far from the main road, anyhow? To think, we mighta missed you altogether.”

“My husband and I are traveling to Hellenia. To visit with the King,” she adds, narrowing her eyes. “While I don’t particularly appreciate having knives thrown at me, I’m willing to overlook it if you turn around and go on your way.”

There’s a few chuckles, and somewhere in the distance, a blackbird calls.

“I would love to,” the first man says, “But you’ve got somethin’ of mine, and I’m not too keen leave without it.”

“I really think you should,” she returns, arch, and before he can respond, a strong breeze tickles through the trees, blowing in from the river.

There’s a collective murmur among the band, and the woman who originally spoke whistles.

“_Well. _Don’t your husband smell sweet. And so obedient, too, keeping quiet while you talk.”

Cas blinks.

“What?” he asks, momentarily startled, and Bela sighs.

“We are quite far from civilization, Castiel. And I mean that in _every_ sense of the word.”

“Show us your pretty little throat, omega,” the woman calls, the lot of them creeping a little closer. “You, too, blondie.”

Bela bristles.

“I’m afraid we must decline.”

“No worries, darlin’. We’ll have a nice, up-close look ourselves soon enough. I’ll just keep my fingers crossed you haven’t mated yet.”

Bela hesitates, briefly meeting Cas’s eyes.

“Please,” she says, sounding much more desperate than she did a moment ago, enough that it puzzles Cas. The man with the lone remaining dagger seems to be the only one with a hand on any kind of projectile, and he counts five members in the party, which he assumes to be a group of bandits; so long as they don’t turn out to be well-trained mercenaries — and even then — Cas is reasonably confident in their odds. “We’re newly wed, on our way to pay respects to the King. My omega is innocent — he’s never even left his family’s estate, before; please, do not to harm him.”

There’s a chorus of ugly laughter, although Cas is mostly preoccupied with looking at Bela like she’s grown three heads. This is far more elaborate than any story she bothered telling on their journey so far, and he can’t help but think it’s both nonsensical and wasted on them.

“If you’re hopin’ to deter us, you’re doin’ it all wrong. And seein’ as that fool sitting on the throne don’t deserve any respect to begin with, I think we can find a much better use for the both of you. But don’t worry; we’ll take real good care of your little omega,” she adds, leering, but Cas is mostly focused on the way they subtly shift closer, his own hand still not-really-relaxed atop his sword. “At least, until we find him a new home.”

“No, please don’t, I beg you,” Bela implores, sounding deeply distraught, and with a sly, sideways glance, the woman nods at her cohorts.

Cas, of course, is ready.

Bela dodges the other knife, which sails past and sticks in the trunk of the tree behind her. Three of the group advance on her, weapons drawn, while two others approach Cas with an insultingly idle air to their intent.

The minute they’re in range, he draws, and the sword Dean gave him that first birthday he spent in Lawrence tastes blood for the very first time.

The man’s startled cry as Cas withdraws it, deep red blooming dark across the front of his tunic, has the rest of them freezing in surprise. Cas smoothly dismounts, swinging the sword the moment his feet touch ground, and it cuts cleanly across the chest of the second man, sending him staggering back and to the ground as Cas starts toward the three approaching Bela.

She coaxes her horse back, boot knife in her uninjured hand, though it isn’t necessary. Cas’s racing heart slows into some sure, steady rhythm, any nerves he had about facing real opponents evaporating with the ease of this.

These are not very worthy opponents.

Steel meets his, when he goes for the first of them, the others scrambling to lift their blades as well, but Cas just lets it slide, draws it back and thrusts it underneath, spinning into the embarrassingly open space at her left and burying the sword in her stomach. He jerks it back a second later, seamlessly bringing it up to guard against a furious slash from one of the others.

It’s only a few movements, less even than he typically expends in a sparring match, before they join their comrades on the ground, white and gasping as the blood rises up to their mouths and spills over.

He makes eye contact with one of them, breathless from adrenaline, and watches as the shock fades from the man’s eyes, dimming along with everything else until he shudders and stills.

Cas turns away, disturbed.

**

“Goodness,” Bela says, though there’s a slight tremble to her voice. “I suppose if I had to run away with someone, I ought to be glad it was you.”

Cas hesitates, then awkwardly tries to clean his sword off against the ground. Dirt cakes into the blood, turning it muddy, and he gives up, deciding to just bring it to the river.

“They intended to abduct us,” he says stiffly. “That much was clear.”

“If your conscience is struggling, it shouldn’t be. They intended much worse than that. Crowley h-has outlawed slavery, but Abaddon had allowed it. Not to mention Hellenia has always been . . . been divided, on the matter of omegas. We couldn’t have run into a more—” she inhales sharply, and Cas pauses, looking back to find her swaying on her horse, white as a sheet. “A more loathesome . . . lot.”

Cas steps toward her, slowly, and then speeds up as she blinks, clearly struggling to focus.

He catches her just as she topples right off her mount.

Cas scouts out a relatively flat clearing in the lee of a small hill and puts together the tent in record time, suddenly grateful for all those forest exercises and the fact that Bela’s made him set up camp every night since they set out.

As soon as the fire is going, he lays out a bedroll and carefully shifts her onto it, relieved when she makes a small noise, eyes fluttering open.

“What . . .” she mumbles, wincing as she tries to move her arm, and Cas gently reaches out to stay her.

“You’re injured. I’ve removed the knife and packed the wound, but I believe there may have been poison of some kind.” He takes a deep breath. Tending to Bela’s injury had been substantially more nerve-wracking than the actual battle. “I’m sorry. I don’t — I’m not sure. I did what I could, based on my training, but—”

Bela limply raises her uninjured arm.

“’S’fine, Castiel. Thank you. How long . . .?”

“No more than half an hour.”

She looks relieved, and despite the paleness to her face, she appears to have gained some color.

“Oh, lovely. Probably just — drugged. Wound should heal, I should be . . . fine.”

Bela falls asleep again after that, and though he’s still worried, he allows himself to be comforted by her words.

He doesn’t _think _she would lie to protect him, at least not in this state. He suspects that if Bela were genuinely dying, she would have some choice words to say about how she ended up here in the first place. As it is, Cas has seen her randomly agitated, muttering to herself, “Oh, God, what was I thinking? Why on earth am I doing this?” but still, she rides on, handling all their business in the towns and ensuring Cas is fed and watered on their journey, so he politely doesn’t mention it. It isn’t like he doesn’t have his own fits of despair, wondering if this was the right thing to do, after all.

Still, Cas keeps vigilant watch, checking her wound and her breathing and her skin for fever, and when a few hours have passed, he awkwardly lifts her head to give her a little water, though she doesn’t wake. Night falls, and Cas is too worried over both any change in her condition and another confrontation to sleep, so he simply watches over her and absentmindedly strokes the feather stone where it rests against his collar.

At last, daylight seems to rouse her.

“How long has it been?” she rasps, and Cas doesn’t answer, offering her a cup of water. He has to help her hold it up, and she glowers at it the whole time she drinks.

“Alright,” she huffs, when she’s finished. “How long?”

“Just the night.”

“Oh. Well, that’s good news. I was afraid you were going to tell me ‘several days’, at which point the Queen’s guard would come bursting from the trees and murder us both.” She closes her eyes, letting her head fall back with a sigh. “Still. We had better start moving.”

“Are you sure you . . .” he starts, eyeing her doubtfully, and she flails her hand a little.

“Needs must, Castiel. Anyway, I have an agreeably competent knight in my arsenal, so I’m confident we’ll continue to make do. Fetch me something to eat and ready the horses, would you?”

Cas immediately reaches for a bowl of steaming porridge, and she blinks in surprise.

“I wasn’t sure,” he admits. “But I was hopeful. I’m . . . very glad you’re alright.”

There’s a pause.

“Well, you would have been quite out of luck if I weren’t,” she finally says, and reaches for his arm to pull herself into a seated position. “God, but this is going to be annoying.”

“I’m sorry. I should have been paying more attention.”

“We’re neither of us dead. Yet, anyway. Really, it’s all turned out far better than I anticipated.”

He quirks a brow.

“You — thought we’d die?”

“By now, certainly. Of course, no one is quite as good at disappearing as I am — and I was laying groundwork for _weeks _beforehand. They would have run into a number of false leads,” she adds smugly, propping the bowl on her lap, and fumbling with the spoon.

“Do you need me to—”

“If you’re about to suggest you feed me, know that I would take a dagger to the other shoulder first.”

“Alright,” he mumbles, and she huffs, raising a brow.

“Have you been up all night?”

“Of course,” he answers, confused. “I didn’t know if — if you . . .”

He trails off, his exhaustion suddenly catching up to him. It was scary, he realizes. Cas has never been all by himself, before, and although Bela was here, not knowing if she was dying, or when she’d be awake again, or what he was supposed to do—

“I didn’t want to miss it. If — if there was something I could do.”

Bela takes a careful bite of porridge, studying him.

“Honestly, at this point, you’d probably be alright. You have the maps, and you’re quite capable of defending yourself. I imagine you’d even figure out the rest, determined little thing.”

Cas frowns at her, despairing.

“Even if that were true, you — you saved me. You’re . . . my friend. I wouldn’t — I don’t want—”

He can’t quite bring himself to finish. Lack of sleep seems to be making him — emotional, he supposes.

Bela looks surprised.

“You . . . are unexpectedly sentimental.”

He looks down, embarrassed.

“Sorry,” he says uncertainly, and Bela inhales.

“Oh, no you don’t.”

“Don’t what?” he asks, voice quiet as he scrupulously studies his pant leg.

“That. She warned me about you. And I won’t tolerate your — your emotional _blackmail._”

Cas raises his head, taken aback.

“Blackmail?”

“Yes, that — _thing, _that awful thing you do. I am unexpectedly sentimental as well, to my enduring displeasure, and I won’t have it. Understood?”

He wrinkles his nose.

“Well, no, I d—”

“Oh, just — prepare things to set out, alright? I’m nearly finished,” she grumbles, and though he’s still confused, he’s mostly just relieved to see her attacking the porridge with a little more energy.

The sun is fully risen when they resume their journey, although it’s slower going; it quickly becomes apparent that Bela is unable to ride on her own, and Cas isn’t accustomed to leading another horse while riding along himself. A few times, Bela looks on the verge of apologizing, but ultimately says nothing.

Cas doesn’t mind; he’s just very, very glad he didn’t end up having to finish the journey without her.

Despite having to stop longer and more frequently, Bela consults the map four days later and announces them just past the border.

“We’re not in the clear yet,” she warns. “But if we’re not on the main roads, we might as well be anywhere. They’re unlikely to find us, at this point.”

“Then — where do we go now?” Cas had misunderstood that Hellenia was the primary goal, and they would be safe once they’d passed the border.

“Weren’t you listening? We’re visiting the King.”

Cas starts, accidentally jostling her, and she grunts.

“How many times do I have to ask you not to _fidget_—”

“I thought you were making things up.”

“Well, I was. King Crowley is not exactly _popular _ amongst Abaddon’s supporters, deplorable barbarians that they are. Not that Crowley is any saint, either, but at least he’s reasonably _civilized._ Anyway, I was trying to rile them up with all of it — bring them close enough for you to attack.”

“Clever,” Cas remarks, rather pleased with the trust in his skill, though Bela must have known he had no _actual _combat experience.

“I thought so. Of course, you could have disappointed and gotten us both worse than killed, but alas. Desperate times.”

Cas frowns.

“Oh, don’t pout,” Bela chides, though she can’t possibly see him.

“Alright,” he mutters. “And — what will we do when we see the King? If . . . if Lawrence is unhappy with us, right now, and he’s heard—”

“Obviously, I’ve brought leverage. I’m not a fool.”

“What leverage?”

She glances at him over her shoulder.

“You’ll see. For now, Hellenia is a little . . . rougher, than Lawrence, as you witnessed with the bandit party.”

“But we were still in Lawrence.”

“They were _clearly_ Hellenian, over there causing trouble, as they tend to do. In any case — you may be called upon to repeat that performance.”

Bela isn’t exaggerating; thrice more over the next week, they’re accosted. Cas is careful to remain vigilant, and ranged weaponry is fortunately absent among their attackers, who seem more interested in thievery than murder or abduction.

“Crowley _has _outlawed the slave trade,” Bela reminds him. “There’s a few groups here and there that ignore it — and him — but they tend to operate as far from the capital as possible. Anyways — your average bandit will kill you if you give them trouble, obviously, but they’d just as soon not go through the bother.”

In light of this, Cas does his best not to outright kill anyone.

“Sentimental,” she repeats, but he ignores her. He’s not entirely convinced thievery warrants death, especially when he can’t be _sure _they’d kill anyone.

Anyway, Cas is just relieved he can handle it; he’s nervous, after the incident with the dagger, that they’ll once again encounter something he’s unable to defend against — but they don’t, and Bela’s offhanded expressions of appreciation for his skills compound the sense of usefulness he feels.

He wishes he could write Dean, though. Dean would be proud of him, he thinks, if he knew Cas had fought off four groups of bandits by himself. Cas isn’t naive; he always anticipated Dean hovering the first time he went on a real mission, watchful for vulnerability. In a way, Cas has successfully proven that isn’t necessary. Of course, a part of Cas is simply _grateful. _He and Bela could both be dead right now, if Dean hadn’t let him train — maybe even if Dean himself hadn’t helped do it.

Eventually, they arrive at Crowley’s castle.

Cas is . . . not impressed. There’s something a little gloomy about it, he thinks, despite it being spring. The surrounding forests seem more menacing than peaceful, and amid the turrets, slender spires pierce the sky overhead, the stones so dark they look nearly black. Just outside the walls, there’s no grass or flora, only damp, barren soil.

They wait thirty minutes at spear point while a messenger is sent to notify Crowley and retrieve his instructions. The guard at the gate numbers two dozen people, give or take, and Cas likes his odds much less, if Crowley isn’t receptive after all.

He hopes Bela’s plan is a good one.

After the longest, most uneasy silence of his life, the messenger returns and the spears drop, not a single word exchanged between anyone. Minutes later, they’re led through the gate, then across an endless-feeling walk up to the front of the castle with nary a rosebush or even craggy hedge in sight. From there, Cas tries not to cringe as the entire group’s footsteps echo through the empty, cavernous front hall, until finally, they pass into a long corridor and come to a stop outside two heavy oak doors.

The messenger knocks three times, and a minute later, the two doors open from within, light spilling into the corridor.

“King Crowley will see you,” they’re told, two footmen gesturing them inside. Directly across from the doors, a wide, purple carpet stretches toward a throne.

There is a man sitting there, head propped on one hand, and Cas—

Well. Cas is a little disappointed. He’s not sure _what _he expected, but the bored-looking man on the throne is not really it. He looks more like a secretary, to be perfectly honest.

“Well, well, well,” he drawls. “Bela Talbot. Color me surprised.”

“Crowley,” she returns, smile sharp. “So good of you to meet with me. And to keep us waiting at the gate for half an hour.”

He shrugs.

“King Crowley, actually. And what can I say? I was finishing my afternoon snack.”

Bela rolls her eyes.

“And you certainly look it.”

Cas tries not to frown. If he’s not mistaken, Bela is seeking asylum for them, here in the castle. He’s seen her be perfectly ingratiating back in Lawrence, so this behavior is . . . puzzling.

Maybe she’s hungry. They did miss lunch.

To his surprise, Crowley just chuckles.

“Well, then. Tell me why I’m not having you and your pretty little friend thrown in the dungeon right now?”

“As your messenger should have told you, I’ve come to make a deal.”

“And?”

“Castiel. The tube,” she says, nodding at him, and Cas perks up, shuffling the two packs he’s wearing to detach the long, cylindrical container from hers. He’s wondered about it for weeks, now, but all Bela would tell him was ‘Guard it with your life.’

She takes it, uncapping the top and carefully withdrawing the contents, which look to be another tube.

But then she unrolls it, and Cas sees it’s not a tube at all.

It’s a _painting._

Crowley sits up in his throne, a gleam in his eye.

“That’s . . .”

“Yes. The real thing, straight from the vault in Winchester Castle.”

He shakes his head.

“How did you manage it?”

“Strong motivation. It still took me six months.”

Crowley licks his lips.

“And you kept me in mind. How thoughtful.”

“I believe your words were, “Should you ever happen to stumble across that painting, you can name your favor.””

His eyes narrow.

“And what favor, exactly, are you naming?”

“My friend and I are in the unfortunate position of needing asylum, and at the moment, this is our best option. Are you amenable?”

Crowley considers this for a moment, and then his gaze slides over to Cas.

“Pretty little thing.”

“He’s bigger than _you. _And he killed five bandits and incapacitated more than a dozen others on our way here, so I would not underestimate him.”

“Impressive.” Cas doesn’t care for the way Crowley looks him over, but he says nothing. “The thing is, my dear — the name ‘Castiel’ rings a bell.”

Bela’s jaw gives an unhappy twitch.

“Does it? I don’t see how it’s relevant.”

“Really. Because if I’m not mistaken — Castiel is the name of the little omega brother Michael sold off a few years back so he and the rest of his kingdom could prosper. _Castiel_ is the name of the Crown Prince of Lawrence’s child bride.”

“I’m not a child,” Castiel interjects, and Crowley huffs, turning back to Bela.

“In light of our failed campaign against Lawrence, and the terms of the treaty enacted thereafter — _you don’t see how that’s relevant._”

“No,” Bela insists, and Crowley shakes his head.

“Dare I ask why you’ve run off with the Crown’s property? He’s lovely, certainly, but I wouldn’t have thought _anyone _would be worth giving up your position in Lettra to hide in dank, dark Hellenia with me.”

“It’s hardly your business,” Bela retorts stiffly. “Do we have a deal or not?”

“I’m not sure. You know, I’ve dealt with Prince Dean once before, and while he’s surprisingly agreeable company, being the target of his wrath is . . . less so. Rumor has it he rather likes his young husband — and you know how sentimental Lawrencians can be.”

Bela sighs.

“You have no idea,” she mutters. “I’ll be frank, Crowley. The only reason we’re here is because Eden is falling apart — may be past the point of no return, for all anyone knows — and Hess wants Castiel dead so she can persuade John to accept Princess Toni as Dean’s new bride.”

Cas lowers his gaze, trying not to appear too troubled by this. Alive though he may be, he is also ‘out of the way’, and he doesn’t think King John will like that he ran.

Crowley blinks.

“Hess wants him dead?”

“Yes. In fact, she sent me to kill him myself.”

“Well, why didn’t you say so?” he scoffs. “Please, stay as long as you’d like, Castiel. We might have to call you Steve or something of the sort while you’re here, but consider yourself my honored guest from here on out.”

“Oh, for God’s sake,” she grumbles, then sighs. “I assume I’m included in this invitation.”

“If I may assume that painting is mine now.”

“Obviously. Now, I’ve taken a dagger to the shoulder a couple weeks past and I haven’t eaten yet today, so if someone could direct us to food and beds, in that order, I would appreciate it.”

“Of course.” Crowley nods at one of his footmen. “See to it they have everything they need.”

Bela gestures for Cas to follow, but Crowley stops her.

“It is interesting, Bela,” he calls after them, voice rich with amusement. “Evidently, Lawrencians aren’t the only ones who get sentimental.”

Bela stiffens, then stalks out of the room without responding.

As the weeks go by, Cas finds he doesn’t mind the castle so much.

It’s nothing compared to Winchester Castle, and everyone in it seems rather suspicious of them at first, but he’s treated well and his bed is comfortable and despite the thick layer of dust across most of it, there’s a well-stocked library just downstairs from his chambers.

He’s nervous, initially — he remembers all of Dean’s letters about Hellenians — but as the days pass and they’re mostly left to their own devices, he relaxes. Bela explains Crowley’s weird adherence to deals — “He’s an odious little man, and I’d just as soon not deal with him at all — but he’ll never double-cross you.” — and Cas supposes that, since she’s brought them this far, he ought to trust her on this as well.

No, there’s nothing that wrong with the castle, or even the people in it — there’s just nothing _right, _not the way it was in Lawrence. As fond as he is of Bela, they don’t converse all that much; when they first arrive, it’s apparent she’s much more worn out than she’s let on, and she spends much of her time recuperating in her room. Cas misses Sam and the others desperately.

And of course, more than anything, he wishes he could talk to Dean.

By the end of the second week, he’s become restless, and a little lonely, and at dinner he asks Crowley if he might train with the Hellenian soldiers.

Crowley’s fine with it — “Try not to kill any of them. They can be a trifle obnoxious.” — and the next day, Cas treks over to a rather desolate looking training field and joins in.

The others are gratifyingly impressed with his ability, though no one really says much to him at first.

But then, at the end of the second week, Cas makes a friend.

“Here. I heard they love peanut butter in Lawrence,” someone says, dropping to the dirt beside him and holding out half a sandwich. “It has grape jelly.”

Cas hesitates, looking at the smiling, red-haired girl, and then decides it’s probably safe to accept. Everyone in the castle seems reasonably frightened of Crowley, and Crowley’s made it clear his guests are to be treated with respect.

Besides, Cas misses peanut butter.

“Thank you. Uh. Do you want half of mine?”

“Sure.” She accepts half of the ham roll, then offers her hand. “I’m April.”

Cas has seen her in a few matches; he remembers that she’s stronger than she looks, even for an alpha.

He shakes her hand.

“Steve.”

The peanut butter sandwich is delicious, of course, and April laughs at the size of his bites.

“Wow, you must be hungry.”

It takes him a moment to finish chewing and swallowing before he answers.

“No, but — I haven’t had peanut butter in weeks. Where did you get it?”

She shrugs, leaning back with a smile.

“My father likes Lawrencian food. There’s always peanut butter in our pantry.”

“Your family must be well-off.”

“How else would I be a lieutenant at twenty-two?” she chides him, and Cas gives her a puzzled look.

“I . . . don’t understand. How are the two related?”

She raises her brows.

“All the children of noble houses get a leg up in the army. They don’t have that in Lawrence?”

Cas doesn’t think that’s a very good idea, personally, but perhaps they’re careful to deny this privilege to anyone not truly capable.

“No. Prince Dean commands the army, but — he truly is the best.”

“Well, I’ll believe that. I saw him, just once, during the war. I’ve never seen anyone fight like that.”

Cas smiles.

“Dean is incredible.”

“’Dean’? He doesn’t make you address him with his title?”

“What? Oh. No. He, uh. He doesn’t care about that.”

“Mm.” She pauses, then nudges his shoulder. “You’re pretty incredible yourself. Even though I just saw him the one time — you fight like he does, I think.”

Warmth blooms in Cas’s chest.

“You think so?”

“Absolutely. The upper ranks are beside themselves, trying to figure out how to beat you.”

Cas rubs the back of his neck.

“I — well. Dean did train me himself.”

April’s brows lift.

“Wow. You must be something special.”

_I am, _ Cas wants to say. So far away from home — so far away from _Dean — _ and with no idea what awaits in the future, Cas feels strangely eager to tell someone the truth, to reaffirm that he is Dean’s husband, that he’s been by Dean’s side for years, and he _is _special to Dean.

But he and Bela have nowhere else to go, and he’s not about to risk it for the sake of short-lived comforts.

“Perhaps.” He looks down, aware of April’s eyes on him. “I noticed you don’t have many omegas in the army, here.”

“Hm? Oh, no. Abaddon thought omegas were — well. It’s only been ten years since then. A lot of people still agree.”

Cas sighs.

“In Lawrence, there’s as many omegas as alphas in the army.”

April looks intrigued.

“That must be . . . very nice,” she murmurs, and Cas nods.

“It is. Perhaps Hellenia will be that way, too, someday.”

She flashes a wide, toothy grin, reaching out to squeeze his shoulder.

“I hope so.”

April starts eating lunch with him every day after that. Sometimes, others join them, but often it’s just her, settling in close beside him to share their lunches.

Cas talks about the honeycakes he loved so well, and a few days later, April shows up with a plate of something similar, though it really doesn’t compare. They’re too dry, and the honey feels raw and gluey on top, a far cry from the perfect, glazed crust on Layla’s.

Still, he appreciates the thought. It’s nice to have at least one friend besides Bela in this place, and he was so used to having company, in Lawrence. It’s been difficult to adjust.

“They’re wonderful,” he lies. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Nonsense. You smell so sad and homesick whenever we talk about Lawrence. I’d rather see you smile.”

“But I feel bad. I don’t have anything for you.”

April looks at him for a long, lingering moment, and then smiles.

“Don’t worry about it,” she assures him, so he tries not to. He neither has his own money or the courage to locate and attend a market by himself — Bela told him not to leave the castle, anyway — but maybe someday, when they leave here, he’ll be able to send her something.

She’s been a good friend, after all, although he never feels quite as comfortable with her as he did with everyone in Lawrence. He supposes it’s because he’s in a strange place, and he can’t even be honest about who he is.

Bela disagrees.

“Take care, Castiel. The Kelly House has been around since before Abaddon’s time; they’re only still here because they helped Crowley steal the throne.”

“Isn’t that — good? Abaddon sounds horrible.”

“While Crowley is certainly preferable to that monster, they didn’t do it for the sake of morals, Castiel. It all comes down to power. Hellenia was a wild and bloodthirsty country under Abaddon’s rule, and the Kelly House enjoyed that as much as anyone. Amuse yourself with her company, if you insist, but I doubt you can trust anyone in this castle. They’re not so far from savagery — not even Crowley, despite his pretensions — and you’d do well to remember that.”

It’s true that, very occasionally, April’s demeanor makes him uneasy, or she’ll make ambiguous remarks his initial impulse is to interpret negatively — but honestly, he thinks that’s just his imagination.

Being away from home is getting to him, and he knows it. By the end of the second month, he can’t even make himself go train everyday, his restlessness having devolved into lethargy, and he spends the day reading in bed and trying not to think about whether or not he’ll ever see the people he loves again.

But he _has _to. Really, he and Bela must just be waiting for Dean’s return, right? Eden’s war can’t last forever, and he’s sure Anna and Valencia have kept themselves safe, clever as they are, and when Dean arrives home and finds out what happened — if he doesn’t figure it out, they’ll find a way to tell him — he’ll sort things out with his father and Cas will be able to go home. Bela probably won’t, but she can come to Lawrence with Cas. He believes she’ll be much happier there, anyway.

Still, even as Cas tries to reassure himself of all this, he wonders if he’s just being naive.

“Are you alright, Castiel?” Bela asks at dinner one night. For the most part, they take dinner together in one of their chambers, and they never, ever talk about the future. She’s asked him how he is a few times, but he can tell this is different.

“Of course,” he says quickly, and she frowns. He doesn’t want to worry her; he likes to think Bela’s grown fond of him, too, because she’s been too attentive to his overall well-being for someone who only meant to get out of murdering an innocent, and it feels ungrateful to trouble her with his own fears when her situation is arguably worse.

“You’re a dreadful liar.” She pauses, sipping at a glass of wine and studying him. “I know it’s not . . . easy. Being away.”

He looks down, gently prodding a mound of potatoes with his fork.

“No,” he admits. “But you’re away, too.”

“Attached to my possessions though I may be, I can’t exactly claim to particularly _like _Lettra. Not the way you like Lawrence. I was certainly never as happy as you seemed to be, even with your precious Prince gone away.”

Cas deflates even further.

“I — it’s just — it’s frightening. Not knowing. I — it was already hard, waiting for the year to end, but now I don’t even know when I’ll see him, or any of them, again.”

_If I even will, _he doesn’t say, because that — he can’t accept that.

“I wish I could tell you. I’d like to think you will — there’s been no news of an alliance with Lettra, at least, and if everything I’ve heard of Dean holds true, he might be able to sway his father.”

“Will he try, though?” Cas wonders, defeated. “Dean married _me _because his father told him to, even though I gather he really didn’t want to. What’s to stop him from doing it again?”

Bela hesitates.

“He only had himself to think of, last time. This time — he has you.”

Cas’s eyes sting, and he can’t quite make his voice work.

He hopes she’s right.

Cas’s heat comes at the end of July, and though it appears to be another very mild one, in some ways that makes Cas worry more.

No one sends a doctor to check on him, and Cas doesn’t ask, uncomfortable with the idea of dealing with a stranger and reasonably confident he’ll be fine, but he does wonder if there’s something wrong with him. He would have thought this heat would be _worse, _if anything, and while he’s glad not to have suffer through a difficult one, he still wishes Ellen were here to tell him whether this was normal or not.

As mild as it is, Cas struggles. He doesn’t sleep well at all, and he keeps dreaming of Dean’s room and then waking up to his new, less familiar chamber here in Hellenia, and while he always thinks of Dean, he feels nearly sick with longing the three days his heat lasts.

And even though his arousal is intermittent and fairly undemanding, Cas feels petulant and frustrated about his options for dealing with it. Sam was preoccupied with some array of hair-styling products at the market last time they went, and Cas stumbled upon a very _interesting _stall, from which he purchased his own heat aid, which he is a little ashamed to say he did not wait for his next heat to try out.

He packed in haste, though, and it is no doubt still tucked in the nightstand drawer of Dean’s bedroom, far away and useless to him now. Certainly, no one’s thought to offer him such a thing here, and though Cas is far from feeling desperate, he _is _bored and cranky and generally worn thin by circumstances.

He deserves to enjoy _something._

But then his heat passes and his mood settles a little, and though he still aches to see Dean and the others again, he resumes the routine he’s developed here without much fuss.

April seems very interested in what had him hidden away for three days, but Cas finds himself strongly reluctant to tell her, so he pretends to have had a cold.

And then, halfway through August, they receive word that King John has, indeed, denounced his marriage.

Which is not completely unexpected, though when Crowley informs them at dinner, an overwhelming wave of grief crashes over him. Still, it’s not — it isn’t really a _surprise_.

What is a surprise, however, is that Cas has been branded a traitor to the crown.

And if he ever returns to Lawrence?

He’s to be arrested on sight — and promptly executed.

Cas cries himself to sleep that night, inconsolable and shaking like a leaf, more from terror than tears.

The anxiety has been eating at him ever since they left Lawrence, but he’s managed to mute it, to tell himself that everything will work out, that he’ll be reunited with Dean and he’ll go back to Lawrence and everything will return to normal.

Now, though, the fear washes over him, hopeless and immense, and he feels it down to his bones.

He really isn’t ever going to see Dean again, or anyone else in Lawrence. Dean will marry Princess Antonia and forget Cas entirely, and John will probably make them have heirs right away even though Dean didn’t want them yet. Anna and Valencia are probably long dead and Eden will destroy itself from within, and Cas will inevitably die alone and without purpose, trapped in Hellenia until he breathes his last.

All his worst fears have become reality, he’s sure, and the future stretches out before him, bleak and horrifying and unendurably lonely.

When he wakes in the morning and remembers, he starts crying all over again.

It takes a week before he feels like doing much of anything, even though on the third night, Bela barges into the room at half past two and crawls into bed with him.

“W-what are you doing?” he asks, hoarse from crying, and Bela huffs as she pulls him into her arms and starts jerkily rubbing his back.

“Not sleeping, because I can hear you from my room.”

A fresh wave of tears hits him.

“I’m s-sorry.”

“No, _I’m _ sorry. I’ve wracked my brain, trying to think what I could have done differently, but — if you’d lived to see the end of the next day, she would have sent someone else, and I might not have been able to get to you. And even though I _know _that, I still — it feels like this is all my fault.”

“I’m alive because of you,” he insists, unabashedly clinging. As not great as he feels right now, the rational part of him knows that this _is _a good thing.

At the very least, he would have hated to die by _poison _for someone else’s political gain.

“And what a life it is,” she mumbles bitterly. “I just — I don’t know what to do. Everything’s completely gone to hell, and it feels like we’re _trapped _here, and I don’t — I don’t know how to fix this.”

“It’s okay,” he tells her, though they both know it’s not. “I don’t expect you to.”

“Still. I should be able to. I brought you this far, and now I’ve completely let you down.”

“Bela—”

“But I’m going to keep trying,” she continues fiercely. “I swear it, Castiel. It may take time — a long time — but I refuse to give up. If there’s a way, I promise you I’ll find it. I don’t believe all is lost, and neither should you. Not yet. Alright?”

Cas just nods. He’s not sure if he can — he certainly can’t right now — but maybe, with time, he can find his faith once more.

For right then, though, he huddles close with Bela and tries not to think too hard about what they’ve both lost. Bela’s floral perfume has faded a little, and the vague traces of scent beneath it are strangely familiar and comforting. She stays with him for several nights after that, and Cas is grateful.

Sometimes, when he’s just falling asleep or coming awake, his brain even tricks him into thinking he’s back in Eden, curled up safe and sound with Anna. Half-conscious or not, it’s nice.

Eventually, he does leaves his room; stuck in Hellenia forever or not, he should at least _try _to keep up with his training.

April seems to sense his sadness — in fact, she can probably smell it on him — and she’s scrupulously kind to him his first few days back. She doesn’t ask, which Cas appreciates, and she tries to bring him interesting things to eat at lunch, which he appreciates less, because he has very little appetite.

Still, it’s the thought that counts.

On the fourth day, she asks if he wants to ditch practice and take a walk.

“You seem so sad,” she tells him, touching his shoulder briefly, then placing a hand on his back. “We could go see the greenhouse.”

Cas perks up a little at that.

“I didn’t know there was a greenhouse.”

“There is. Crowley appointed a court botanist earlier this year,” she explains, giggling. “He said it would impress visiting diplomats, but I think he _likes _the flowers. Silly, isn’t it? You’d never guess the man was an alpha.”

This is a somewhat disturbing comment, but then Cas reminds himself that both Eden and Lawrence have rules about flowers, so he can hardly judge April too harshly.

Besides, he’d very much like to see them; he hasn’t seen a flower since they got here, and he misses his walks with Sam and Valencia.

“A walk sounds nice,” he tells her. “I”m very fond of flowers.”

She nods, smile widening.

“I thought you would be.”

The botanist is worth whatever Crowley is paying him, Cas decides. The greenhouse is rather large — on the opposite side of the castle, which explains why Cas has never come across it — and Cas feels cheered the moment they step inside, an endless array of plants packed into the generous space, colorful and fragrant and deeply soothing to the soul.

They wander in silence for a while, April trailing after him while he stops to examine anything that catches his eye. He’s touching a cluster of bright pink blooms, drooping over the sides of a hanging pot next to one of the walls, when she speaks.

“I thought so,” she says, somewhere close behind him. “You look like you belong in here.”

Cas reluctantly abandons his scrutiny of the plant, turning to face her. He’s startled to find just how close she actually is, nose inches apart from his own.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re really beautiful, Steve,” she murmurs, eyes roving over him. “Just like the flowers. I’ve been thinking that ever since you got here.”

“Oh.” Cas shifts, uncertain. “Thank you.”

April just smiles.

****

“Sure,” she says, and then she pushes him against the nearest pane of glass and kisses him.

For a long moment, Cas is just — surprised. No one’s ever tried to kiss him before — despite the considerable number of people he’s kissed, he was responsible for initiating all of them — and this . . . this feels very different from those kisses. April keeps moving her mouth, tilting her head and pressing her lips against his, and while he thinks he’s observed this kind of kiss, secondhand, it’s not anything he’s tried before.

And then she threads her fingers through his hair, gripping his head, almost like she’s holding it in place, and slides her tongue into his mouth.

Cas jerks, startled, but her other hand is tight on his arm, and the glass is at his back, and there’s really nowhere to go. She tugs at his hair, and Cas winces, the involuntary motion causing his mouth to open a little wider, and then April’s tongue starts doing very strange things, wet and foreign in his mouth. Cas has no idea what to do.

The problem is, his first instinct is to try and make it stop, because this is almost certainly not a greeting kiss, and Cas isn’t supposed to do things like this with anybody but Dean.

But then Cas remembers that he and Dean aren’t married anymore, that he might never see Dean again, and he’s suddenly sad and unsure.

“Oh, don’t be sad, pretty omega,” April breathes, pulling away and ducking down to nip at his throat. Cas bristles at the sensation of her teeth on his skin, trying to shy away but not quite able. April _is _very strong. He realizes then, that he’s never sparred with her. “You smell so sweet. Let me make you feel better, okay?”

“Um. I — I don’t—” he starts, because even though this isn’t technically against the rules, it — it doesn’t feel good. Cas doesn’t feel good about it. He doesn’t like the way April is talking to him, and he doesn’t like how sudden this feels, because it _is _sudden. And even though Cas didn’t even know he was going to kiss Dean, that first time in the courtyard, until he was doing it — it still didn’t feel abrupt the way this does. It had felt like the natural thing to do.

But April doesn’t let him finish talking, just kisses him again, hard and aggressive, tongue pushing back into his mouth, and his heart is pounding in a bad way and there’s a cold, heavy feeling in his stomach, and this doesn’t feel natural at all.

When he tries to turn his head, her grip tightens, keeping it in place, and then there’s a hand slipping up under his tunic, unsettling and cool where it rests on his stomach.

He wriggles sideways, forcefully jerking out of her hold and wincing at the sting in his scalp.

“April, stop, I don’t want—”

She grabs him by the shoulders, shoving him back against the glass and pressing in close. Cas is bigger than her, and he’s faced opponents bigger than them both, but the look in her eye as she peers up at him makes his chest feel frozen.

“You will.” She inhales deeply. “You smell scared. I didn’t think anything could scare you. Have you done this before? Do I get to be first?” She suddenly pushes up, rubbing her cheek against his, and he flinches. “God, I can’t wait to show you. You’re going to like it so much, little omega.”

Cas would be indignant if he weren’t so alarmed. He’s far from being little, but more importantly, he wants absolutely nothing to do with what April wants to show him. It feels like there’s a completely different person in the greenhouse with him than he’s known the last few months, and every word out of her mouth sends an unpleasant chill down his back.

“April,” he says, as calmly as he can manage. “Let go. I want to go. I don’t want to do anything with you.”

“Why’d you come to the greenhouse with me, then?”

“What?” Cas stares at her, wondering if she’s perhaps gone mad. “I wanted to look at the flowers.”

“And you always sit with me at lunch.”

“Because we’re _friends,_” he sputters, and she huffs a laugh.

“Oh, but I don’t see you making ‘friends’ with anyone else. And you accepted all the things I brought you. You’re not stupid, Steve. You knew.”

“Knew _what_?” At no point did it ever occur to Cas to kiss April. She’s very pretty, and he thought her scent was pleasant enough — although right now it’s turned unpleasantly musky — but he never wanted to kiss her. He would certainly have been flattered if she’d indicated she wanted to kiss him, but she never did, and the kisses just now —

They weren’t flattering _at all, _ especially because she didn’t even _warn _him.

“That I wanted you.” She tilts her head, eyes bright. “That I was going to have you.”

And then suddenly, it clicks, what kinds of things follow kissing.

What April is probably talking about.

Everything he consumed half an hour ago lurches violently in his stomach.

“I didn’t know that. And you’re not,” he manages. “So — stop this, and let’s return to training.”

And even though Cas thinks he can’t be any clearer, she doesn’t.

“Why would I stop?” she asks, like she’s genuinely confused, and he squints.

“Because I don’t want to be here?”

She considers this for a moment, and then shakes her head.

“Well, then you shouldn’t have come here in the first place.”

And then, to Cas’s outrage, she leans back in.

He doesn’t think twice, this time, nauseated at the thought of her mouth back on his and satisfied from their conversation that there is clearly something wrong with her and this situation both. Before she can fully close the distance, Cas jerks his arm free, reaching up to grasp her hair and yank her head back.

She grunts, falling back a little, and he takes advantage of the space to get his other arm in front of him, pushing her back by the shoulder.

“Stop this. Now,” he commands, and she narrows her eyes.

“You’re going to regret that,” she says quietly.

But when she lunges forward, Cas is ready.

**

&&

“So — if I’m understanding this correctly — April is _not _dead.”

“I — it didn’t get that far, since I didn’t want — I just wanted her to _stop,_ I wasn’t trying to kill her. I don’t know why she was behaving that way, but—”

“Right, yes, that’s lovely, Castiel, but to the point — she’s alive?”

“Yes?”

“Wonderful,” Bela says, mouth grim. “Then that means I can kill her. Pardon me.”

“What? Why would you — wait!” Cas jogs after her as she storms toward the doors of the throne room, bewildered. “Bela, she’s already injured, and she’s been apprehended. And — and I’m not convinced she didn’t eat something strange. Her behavior was _bizarre — _she’s never done anything like that, before—”

Bela whirls, furious.

“Are you honestly making excuses for her?”

“Excuses? No? But she must be — ill. Why else would she do such a thing?”

“Good God, Castiel, I _told _ you. That girl is _not _your friend, and she’s never been your friend! You want to know why she would do such a thing? Because she’s been waiting, since the moment you arrived here, for an opportunity to do exactly this! Which was downright foolish; brutish strength aside, there’s not a soul here who’s a match for you, and if not for that antiquated alpha ego, she’d have known it.”

Cas frowns, a little hurt.

“Of course she was my friend.”

Bela groans.

“Please. You can’t be this naive, right? As many books as you’ve read, you _know _ that people aren’t always what they seem, and befriending someone with an ulterior motive is perfectly _commonplace._”

He hesitates; it’s true, that this happens in practically every other book he reads (the novels in Crowley’s library are _particularly _sordid; some of them, he can’t even bring himself to read beyond the first few pages), but people in novels are motivated by greed or desperation or both.

April wanted neither.

“Would someone really spend that long just — _pretending _to be my friend, if that was what they wanted?”

Bela stares.

“Yes. Yes, they would. It’s true wherever you go, but especially here. I cannot overstate the depravity this kingdom fell into under Abaddon’s rule, Castiel, and for many, that attitude persists, regardless of Crowley’s lofty ideas about class and civility. Of _course _April would do all that — and do you want to know why?”

“Yes,” he retorts, emphatic, and Bela throws up her hands.

“Because it was _fun. _ It was all a _game _ to her. She _enjoyed _ deceiving you, and manipulating you. In fact, she probably _liked _your naivete, because she’s a miserable, sadistic creature and she wanted to see your reaction when you realized. She wanted you surprised and confused and afraid, because people like that — they take pleasure from it. And setting you up for that — they take pleasure in that, as well.”

Cas stares, stunned. It’s not that he’s never encountered villains like that in his books, relishing in elaborate deceptions and the distress they cause at the reveal, but — he always thought it an exaggeration, an over-dramatized caricature for the story.

Certainly, he never thought he’d run into anyone like that.

Bela’s face softens, and she steps toward him.

“I’m sorry. I know that isn’t what you want to hear. But it’s the way the world is, and it’s why we must all be so cautious.” She sighs. “For what it’s worth, I’m grateful you spent so many years training, that unless you’re very unlucky, I don’t have to worry you’ll end up hurt. But the reality is, April meant to do something horrible to you, and if you weren’t so adept, she would have done it. Whatever punishment Crowley metes out — or myself, depending — it’s well deserved, and you should let it be.”

They’re silent for a long moment, Cas trying to process — well, _everything — _and then Bela nods.

“I’ll be back.” She reaches out, lightly touching the tip of her index finger to his temple. “That incompetent quack of Crowley’s didn’t clean you up all the way.”

She leaves, and Cas shuffles over to a wall mirror to inspect. Hearing the doctor who tended his wounds described as an ‘incompetent quack’ is a little disheartening. Cas doesn’t _think _he’s concussed, but his head aches terribly from where April caught it with the flowerpot, and he’d feel much better if Ellen had been the one to tell him he’d be fine.

Bela wasn’t wrong though; he vaguely remembers the doctor grumbling and mopping his face with a damp cloth, but there’s still dried blood caked around his hairline and along his ear. Cas isn’t that concerned, though; Ash fell out of one of the trees by the training field once, and Cas was sure he must be dying, the way the blood poured out of his head. Sam told him head injuries were always like that, though, and Ash was back to climbing trees the very next day.

Still. He feels . . . restless. Shaken, maybe. Fighting April was different than fighting the bandits. He wasn’t — it was confusing, not knowing how badly it was okay to hurt her. She was a friend, wasn’t she? She wasn’t listening to what he said, was trying to do something he didn’t want, but — that wasn’t the same as getting attacked by strangers in the woods, was it? Cas just wanted her to stop, he didn’t — he didn’t want to _maim _her, or cause her any great pain.

But April didn’t fight like the bandits, either, was clearly much better trained and seemed more interested in subduing him than hurting him, right up until Cas finally punched her square in the face, tired of the struggle and still a little in shock that his friend had not only started this, but still wouldn’t _quit._

And then April had snatched up the flower pot and clocked him with it, sinking to the floor after him and reaching for his _tunic, _of all things, and in his disorientation Cas forgot he didn’t want to hurt her. He shoved her over and put his hands on her throat and —

And eventually she stopped clawing at his hands, stopped thrashing and kicking, and as soon as she went limp, Cas scrambled away, shaking like a leaf.

He _thinks_ he was relieved when the botanist came back and she wasn’t dead. He’s not sure, and he’s not sure if he should feel bad about that, or not.

He just feels — anxious. Very, very anxious. He’d like the day to be over so he can return to his room, have a proper bath, eat dinner and go to bed, but Crowley wanted both of them brought to the throne room so he could hear their accounts and determine April’s punishment.

He settles into one of the chairs alongside the aisle with a sigh.

A few minutes later, Bela returns, taking the seat beside him and carefully dabbing away the blood with a damp cloth. As she works, more people file into the room; the botanist gives Cas a sad, sympathetic look when he comes in, and for some reason it makes Cas feel worse.

Finally, two guards enter, April in shackles behind them. Cas sees the bruising on her face, around her throat, and he has to look away.

Bela’s almost certainly right that she deserved it — that much, at least — but Cas is still struggling to reconcile the one friend he’s made in Hellenia with the person who attacked him in the greenhouse.

He feels so _tired. _He hopes Crowley won’t make them wait long.

It’s another ten minutes before Crowley enters, flanked by his various attendants, and another five before he finishes making himself comfortable on his throne, chalice of wine in hand.

“Now, then,” he begins, eyes narrowed. “Someone explain to me why we’re here.”

There’s silence, and he sighs.

“Botanist.”

“It’s Emery, your majesty.”

“Yes, botanist. Tell me what you saw.”

The man shifts uncomfortably.

“Well. Mr. Kelvin was walking past the greenhouse, and heard some strange sounds, so he came to get me, thinking there was a pest of some kind.”

“Doubtless, there was,” Crowley mutters. “And why did Mr. Kelvin not investigate himself?”

“Uh. He’s afraid of raccoons, your majesty. And to be honest, he seems to think some of the plants are alive, in a more human sense—”

Crowley waves a hand impatiently.

“Right. Your Mr. Kelvin is a bloody fool, very good. Continue. What did you do after Mr. Kelvin informed you of the ruckus?”

“I went to check on things, of course — I’m very careful to shut the door and such, I assure you, but now and again the rabbits or squirrels will sneak in—”

“If you mention some sort of obnoxious rodent one more time, I’ll assign any punishments to you instead.”

Emery swallows.

“Of course, your majesty. I — so when I arrived, things were quiet, and when I opened the door, the little omega was sat back against the angel’s trumpets, by all the hanging pots along the east wall. Poor thing was just — covered in blood, and you could smell the fear and violence, even over all the flowers. I thought he must be dead at first — I couldn’t even see his face underneath the blood. And then when I came further in, I saw the alpha passed out on the floor, several of my pots knocked over, and one in pieces between them.” He shakes his head. “Should have locked up the greenhouse, but nobody ever bothers about my flowers.”

Cas is too exhausted to even get that upset over how the man refers to him. _Little. _ If anyone here is _little, _it’s the botanist. He’s several inches shorter, and his shoulders are so narrow Cas thinks he might easily slip through a sewer grate.

But Cas just stays quiet, waiting for Crowley’s response.

“I see.” He nods. “C—ah. Steve. Come forward.”

Reluctantly, Cas stands, approaching the throne.

“Yes?”

“Tell me what happened. From the beginning. Why were you in the greenhouse?”

Cas swallows.

“I . . . received some distressing news, a while back. I’m — I remain upset, by it, and April could tell. In an effort to cheer me up — at least, that’s what she said — she invited me to take a walk. To go look at the flowers.”

“And then what happened when you got to the greenhouse?”

“We walked through. I was enjoying the flowers. They’re — I like flowers. They’re very soothing. I was feeling a lot better.”

The botanist lets out a happy noise from the sidelines, and Crowley holds up a hand to silence him, rolling his eyes.

“Continue.”

“And then . . . at some point, she said something to me.”

“What did she say?”

“Um. I . . . something about — me belonging there? I turned to face her, and she was standing very close, and then—” Cas cuts off, flushing. His skin crawls at the recollection, and he finds himself suddenly reluctant to recount everything with such a large audience. As he thinks back, trying to remember the order right, it all — it sounds almost stupid, in his head.

“And then?” Crowley prompts, though his tone is a little softer.

“She — pushed me against the wall, and kissed me.”

“And what did you do?”

“I — I was very confused. I wasn’t expecting that.”

Across the room, April snorts, and Cas frowns.

“Wait your turn,” Crowley snaps, and then looks at the guards. “If she makes another noise, gag her. Steve?”

“After that she — I was still trying to gather my bearings, but then she was — pulling my hair, and she — she, um. She put her tongue in my mouth.” He looks down. “It was — strange. I’m not — I didn’t understand why she was doing that. And then she finally pulled away, but she — said things to me. About, um. Not being sad. Making me feel better. And I tried to tell her, I didn’t want her to do that, but then she did it again, and then she was — touching me, other ways, so I pulled away, and I told her to stop, but it’s like — she wouldn’t listen to me. She was saying — bizarre things, and she kept trying to — and no matter how many times I told her I didn’t want to, or to stop, she wouldn’t — and so finally, when she tried to — to hold me in place, and make me, I — I grabbed her hair, and yanked her back, and I was able to push her away and I told her, again, to stop. And she told me I was going to regret that. And then she attacked me, and we fought — and I didn’t want to hurt her, but — she wouldn’t _stop_ _. _So I punched her, and then she smashed the pot over my head, and tried to — to pin me down, and I guess I was — I don’t know, I wasn’t thinking, I just wanted to stop fighting, and I didn’t know how else to get her to stop . . .” he trails off. “I pushed her over and I — um. I strangled her. Not to kill,” he adds hastily. “Just — until she passed out. That’s all. I just — I really — I really just wanted it to stop.”

The room is quiet for a long moment, and then Crowley nods.

“Thank you, Steve. You may sit. Guards? Bring her forward.”

Bela reaches over, silently twining her fingers with his when he sits down.

He appreciates the gesture, but mostly he wishes Crowley hadn’t made him talk. He feels — awful, now. Worse than he did before. It’s not the kind of bad feeling he’s had before, and he doesn’t know what to do with it.

“And what do you have to say to that?” Crowley asks her, and her lip curls.

“He’s been teasing me for _weeks, _your majesty. Look at him,” she scoffs. “He’s not some newly presented brat. He was a knight in Lawrence’s army, for God’s sake! There’s no doubt he played all his games there, too. Honestly, if you’d only heard the way he talked about the Prince. You’re an idiot if you believe that he didn’t know what we were going to the greenhouse for.”

Crowley arches a brow.

“I’m an idiot?”

April flushes angrily.

“I just — I only meant—”

“I see. Honestly, my dear, I think the real idiot is the person who doesn’t understand what the bloody word ‘no’ means. Or a fist to the face, for that matter. On which note — you’ve failed to dispute that any of what he said happened, so . . . two years in the dungeon, five in the fields, I think. Yes, that should do nicely.”

Her jaw drops.

“_What_ ?” she screeches. “Seven _years_ for some worthless omega _whore_—”

“Add three for disrespect to the crown,” he notes boredly, and April lets out a furious snarl, shoving at the guards as they approach her.

“You can’t be _serious_! If not for my family, you wouldn’t be sitting on that throne, you pathetic excuse for an Alpha! If they’d only known what an embarrassment you’d make of this kingdom — we would have died with the True Queen before we ever stood alongside the likes of _you_!”

Crowley freezes, mid-sip of wine.

“I’m sorry,” he says, so soft it’s barely audible. “What did you say?”

April looks him dead in the eye and bares her teeth, even as the guards secure her arms, dragging her back.

“_Long live Abaddon, the True Queen of Hellenia_!” she shouts, and Crowley sets down his chalice.

And then, so fast Cas barely catches the movement, he stands, hand ghosting across his pocket before there’s a flash of metal and a terrible, wet squelch that echoes through the room.

April sags between the guards, eyes wide as she looks down at the blade sticking out of her throat. She twitches on her knees, gurgling helplessly as the blood pours from around the knife, drenching her already dirt-stained tunic.

Moments later, she falls to the ground and goes still.

Cas forces himself to avert his gaze, turning back to Crowley, who has already taken his seat and picked up his chalice.

“Idiot,” he scoffs. “The False Queen is already _dead. _Honestly. Beadley, move ‘education reform’ to the top of the list. And remove the corpse from my throne room, please. The rest of you . . . well. Get out.”

Bela practically has to hoist him from his chair, but Cas manages to stand, though his legs feel strangely shaky.

“It’s alright, Castiel. Let’s . . . let’s get you a bath, and I’ll send for some dinner, and then we’ll tuck you into bed, all nice and cozy, and you don’t have to think about any of this ever again.”

His tongue feels thick and strange in his mouth, and when he tries to answer, he can’t quite form the words.

He gives her a jerky nod instead, and lets her guide him from the room, careful not to look back at the body.

&&

“She wasn’t like that. When, uh. When we ate lunch.”

Bela pauses, quietly setting down her fork.

“Of course not. April made every effort to charm you.”

“I feel — stupid.”

Bela sighs.

“You shouldn’t. We all trust the wrong people at some point. And people like that — they’ve made deception an art form.”

“Still. I think . . . I should have known better. Everyone else ignored me. There must have been a reason she was so friendly, and I should have guessed it. And — there were times, that she said things, that I — I was uncomfortable. I attributed it to cultural differences.”

“Because you’re not a horrible person,” she says gently. “And because of that, you assume other people aren’t, either.”

“But — in books, it always seems so obvious, when someone is — bad. But I couldn’t tell.”

“Well. It sounds like sometimes, you could, but you didn’t want to be unkind.”

“But—”

“Castiel,” she says gently. “You couldn’t have known. Knowing who to trust — it’s something you have to learn. And even when you do, you can still be wrong, sometimes.”

“How do I learn?”

“Experience,” she says bluntly. “Things like this. Next time, when someone says things that make you ‘uncomfortable,’ you’ll pay more attention. You’ll question things that don’t quite make sense. And eventually . . . your instincts will get better. But they’ll never be perfect. And it’s never your fault if they fail.”

Cas has nothing to say to this. The day has felt like a hundred of his longest days all rolled into one, and once again, he’s received an answer that basically amounts to ‘there is no answer.’

Cas misses Lawrence. He knows he could have ended up a number of much, much worse places, but even without anything bad to measure it against, he likes Lawrence. He likes the _castle, _ and all the people in it. He doesn’t _want _to learn how to tell if he can trust someone, not if it means having things like this happen.

They’re nearly done with their meal when another thought occurs to him, and though he feels a little guilty for having it, he can’t help but ask.

“Why did you help me?”

Bela pauses her tidy nibbling of a mint chocolate. Those are her favorite; Cas usually lets her eat all the ones they send up with dinner. He likes the taste of mint, but he doesn’t like how cold his mouth feels afterward — though even if he did, he’d still let her have them.

“I thought we went over this.”

They did, but after today, after everything Bela just now said, Cas wonders if she wasn’t a little too vague.

“You said you didn’t kill innocents.”

“I would think you’d approve of that policy,” she says, smiling a little, but if Cas focuses, he thinks there’s a tightness around her eyes, telling him she’s not quite comfortable with this line of questioning.

He hopes Bela doesn’t turn out to be untrustworthy — that he didn’t give up everything for nothing.

“You could have refused.”

Bela snorts.

“She wouldn’t have appreciated that.”

“But I think you would have been alright. I think she would have sent someone else, instead, and I think you could have lived with that. Except — except for some reason, you couldn’t. You warned me from the beginning, you told me what she was planning — it was always your intention to help me. And you gave up everything to do it. Why?”

Bela studies him, the silence stretching on so long Cas’s stomach starts to sink and he starts to wonder if maybe he _was _naive, and this was all just an elaborate Lettran plot after all. If he really is alone, here in Hellenia, and it’s all his own fault.

Then she sighs.

“Sentimentality,” she says, cryptic, and then stands.

He tenses, ready to fight, if it comes to that, but all she does is walk over to the dresser, dabbing soap onto a dry cloth and dunking it in the pitcher of water there. Then she tugs down her collar — uncomfortably high, in what she always says is the Lettran style — and scrubs at her throat.

Once she’s satisfied, she splashes it with water, and uses a different cloth to dry it, leaving the collar folded down.

Then she turns, approaching his chair and baring her neck.

To his surprise, there’s a bite-shaped scar on it.

“I didn’t know you were mated,” he blurts out, and she huffs.

“I’m not — not exactly. Just — scent me. You’ll understand.”

Hesitant, Cas stands up and cautiously pushes his nose up to her neck, carefully breathing in, uncertain what she expects him to find.

Bela smells much, much nicer without the heavy floral perfume, is his first thought. Her natural scent still carries a trace of floral, but instead of the bright, overwhelming garden scent, there’s just a subtle thread, cool and fresh like snowdrops. In fact, while Bela’s primary scent comes off airy and tart, with just enough sweetness to make it pleasantly refreshing, it’s like there’s a strangely complementary sublayer there that’s completely different. It reminds Cas of dry winter nights, thick blankets of stark white, unblemished snow reaching as far as the eye can see, that sweet whisper of snowdrops in the background. There’s no pine or damp earth, no trace of storms, like Sam’s. It’s just clean and pure and still and — and strangely _familiar._

Cas sucks in a breath, stepping back with wide eyes.

“You smell like Anna,” he exclaims, and Bela straightens out, rueful.

“I do.”

“But — why?”

Bela shrugs, rubbing at where the bite scar is.

“Honestly? It was an accident. I . . . provoked her. At an . . .” She hesitates. “Inopportune moment.”

Cas is not entirely sure what she means by this, though the phrasing seems deliberate, but he’d rather not pry.

“What about Anna? Does she . . .” he gestures to his own neck.

Bela emits a delicate cough.

“Well, I was . . . feeling rather provoked myself, after that.”

Cas assumes that means ‘yes.’

“Oh. She never told me.”

“Of course not. As I said, we aren’t mated.”

He frowns.

“But if it was an accident, why do you still smell like her? Ellen said our bodies naturally reject unwanted bonds.”

If Cas isn’t mistaken, Bela actually blushes.

“They do,” she mutters. “And it was _supposed _to; we were neither of us worried about it, because we weren’t — it wasn’t like that.”

“But . . . you still—”

“Yes, obviously,” she snaps. “God knows why my body is so keen to reek of some obnoxious alpha, but there it is. It’s been nearly — three years? Since I saw her, and for whatever reason, it stuck. At least the bloody pining sickness never happens anymore.”

Cas is mostly still reeling that Bela, mentioned only a few times in his sister’s letters, apparently knew Anna well enough for this to happen in the first place.

Not only that, but —

“Ellen says the — the bond. It’s, um. It’s emotional. If you don’t — if _all _of you doesn’t want it, it’s not—”

Bela fixes him with a nasty glare.

“Heresy,” she bites out. “They can’t prove that.”

But Cas is unfazed, and he returns her look with a curious one of his own.

“So . . . you and Anna were in love.”

“We were _not,_ ” she insists, fierce. “And your sister’s would have long since faded by now. Had I managed to return to Eden and see her again, I could have gotten the rejection out of the way and maybe I would finally smell like _myself _again.”

“You don’t know that,” Cas protests.

Bela drops back into her chair with a scathing glance.

“Has your sister ever even mentioned me?”

“Yes.”

“And what did she say?”

He hesitates.

“I — you’re both very complicated,” he tries. “I don’t — I may have missed out on the — the, um, ‘subtext.’ I do that.”

She laughs, dry and bitter.

“No doubt Anna was fine by the end of the month, else she would have said _something. _ If not to you, then to _me._”

Cas is overbearingly put in mind of Sam and Valencia.

“You didn’t write her,” he points out, and Bela sniffs, looking away.

“She’s the one who bit me in the first place. Anyway, she didn’t mean anything by it. I didn’t, either, for that matter. It’s just — it’s biology. That’s all.”

Cas tilts his head.

“So this has nothing to do with why you helped me, after all,” he clarifies. Bela winces.

“I don’t — just because I don’t — we were still — I wasn’t going to let her little brother _die, _ alright? Now, you — you’ve had a very long day, indeed, and I believe it’s your _bedtime. _See to it that you rest.”

Without waiting for a response, Bela swiftly stands and sweeps past him, toward the door.

But then she pauses, just before she leaves.

“Sleep well, Castiel,” she says softly, and then she’s gone.

And Cas doesn’t quite manage it, lies awake and can’t help but think of April’s tongue, invasive and strange in his mouth, the harshness of her hands on his body, the sounds she made as she bled out in Crowley’s throne room.

But he still feels _better, _and for that, at least, he is grateful.

When Bela asks him what he wants to do the next morning, Cas is tired, but he informs her that he plans to go train.

“Are you sure?” she asks, dubious. “Yesterday was something of an ordeal, not to mention everything that happened the other week.”

He nods.

“Yes. I — I didn’t sleep much last night, and I was thinking and . . . the only thing I can do right now, is train.”

“Well — things could change—” she starts, frowning, and he shakes his head.

“You’re the one who’s always telling me there’s no way of knowing. It’s . . . it’s fine. But I thought, I should keep training. And if we don’t hear anything soon, or if we do and it looks like there’s an opportunity — I’ll go to Eden.”

“_Eden_? Castiel, no one has any idea what’s happening. And until Michael or Lucifer decide they don’t want it that way, the border guard is hellbent on keeping everyone out.”

“I’ll find a way,” he insists. “I can’t just sit here in Hellenia forever. I need to know Anna and Valencia are alive, and then . . . we’ll figure it out together.”

Bela sighs, slumping in her chair, and then a moment later pulls a flask from seemingly nowhere.

After a few long, desperate swigs, she sets it on the table with a huff.

“Alright. I suppose I’ve no choice but to go with you, then.”

Cas wasn’t _counting _on it, exactly, but he’s not surprised. He smiles at her.

“You know. I thought about that, too. Last night.”

She narrows her eyes.

“About what?”

“What you told me.”

“Well, don’t,” she mutters. “I try not to.”

He shakes his head.

“I think she loves you.”

Bela freezes.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Anna. I think she loves you.”

She gapes at him.

“Anna? The sister who never contacted _me _ and barely mentioned my name in her letters to _you — _ except to complain excessively, I don’t doubt — and whom neither of us have heard from in nearly a _year — _ you think she _loves _me.”

Cas nods.

“Yes. I know my sister very well, and — well, now I know you, too. And . . . I think she loves you.”

Bela buries her face in her hands, but not before he catches sight of scarlet cheeks.

“You’re naive,” she insists, muffled by her hands. “You’re disgustingly naive, just like she said. I didn’t believe her, honestly — you were seventeen, at the time, and you’d lived in Lawrence for several years, and I was _sure _ she was exaggerating — but here you are, hopelessly innocent and full of strange ideas, and dear _God _was she right to worry.”

Cas just shrugs, not particularly offended, since it’s apparent to him she’s deflecting.

“You’ll see,” he says, and after a moment, Bela hastens out of the room for the second time in as many days.

It’s strange, but even after everything that happened yesterday, Cas woke up this morning and, for the first time in a while — he had hope.

He intends to hold onto that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ** SPOILERS **
> 
> Attempted rape/non-con:  
Scene 1: April starts kissing Cas; he’s very caught off-guard, and promptly determines he doesn’t want her to. He tries to push her off, but she’s insistent, suggesting he knew what her intentions were all along. There is a struggle; Cas ends up punching her and she breaks a flower pot over his head to subdue him; he manages to push her off and strangles her until she falls unconscious.  
Scene 2: Bela confirms April is not dead, but indicates she’d like to kill her herself. Cas is still in shock, trying to explain that he thinks something must be wrong with April, for her to have behaved like that. He’s tired and wants to just have dinner and a bath and go to sleep, but Crowley is insistent on holding a trial. Cas has no choice but recount the event, and the recounting is also a deeply upsetting experience. When he’s done, Crowley asks for April’s perspective; April again accuses Cas of having understood her intentions all along, saying anyone who believes he didn’t is an idiot. Crowley is not impressed, and sentences her to two years in the dungeon and five years working in the fields. Outraged, April reminds him that her family helped him secure the throne. Things devolve and she shouts a message of support for Abaddon, at which point Crowley throws a knife at her throat. She bleeds out in the throne room, and Cas is disturbed by the whole event.
> 
> Mentions of trafficking, violence: Bandits attack Cas and Bela, throwing a knife into her shoulder. As they approach, their conversation makes it clear they intend to capture the pair and sell them. Bela tries to lull them into a false sense of security by pleading on ‘her omega’s’ behalf, and when they come close and move to attack, Cas fights them off with the sword Dean gave him on his fourteenth birthday. He kills them.


	13. Part XIII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: none that I can think of, please let me know if I missed something.
> 
> *5'11" = 180.34 cm

The trip to Lettra is fucking _awful, _and Dean is still sick by the time he gets there, although he no longer feels like he has to tie himself to his horse to keep from falling off.

The first week, a part of him even wonders if this was part of his Dad’s punishment, if he had someone slip something shitty-but-non-lethal in Dean’s breakfast, because what are the odds he would get _that _sick as soon as he rode out?

He’s tired and queasy the whole damn time, and he feels kind of . . . hormonal, almost like when he’s in his rut — except less irritable and more just . . . well, sad.

Of course, _maybe_ he’s sad because his Dad is banishing him hundreds of miles away from home all by himself for a fucking year.

Anyway, he manages to survive the trip, and he’s okay-enough by the time he gets there that he declines to visit with the court physician.

It’s probably petty (and maybe a little stupid), but he _seems_ to be on the mend, and he doesn’t trust anybody who isn’t Ellen, or at least approved by her.

Still, Dean ends up spending that first week glued to the distressingly unfamiliar bed in his new chambers. He does force himself go to the welcome banquet, but any invitations that follow, he declines. Dad’d probably be pissed, if he was there, but Dean reasons that they all have a whole goddamn year to go, and he’ll make it up to them later.

Eventually, he feels a little less like spurning food and hiding from the world, and as he settles in and forces himself to man up and do this dumbass diplomacy thing, he finds that Lettra’s not really as bad as he thought.

Nah, it’s a hundred fucking times _worse._

Admittedly, it’s — _less _awful, the first few months, but then Princess Antonia suddenly moves into his goddamn pocket and Queen Hess starts staring at him like he’s a piece of furniture she’s trying to decide where to put in her parlor, and holy _shit_ is it all making Dean uncomfortable.

For the record, Princess Antonia has _no _sense of humor, despite how often she dryly chuckles at nothing, and she does this weird thing where she rests her hand on his arm throughout an entire conversation — of which there are many, despite Dean’s efforts to avoid them. The fact that he’s ninety-nine percent sure she actually really dislikes him makes this as annoying as it is bizarre.

Not that he can tell for sure, of course; she just smells like peach trees and bubbling fountains all the time, since Lettra is apparently full of shady assholes who have to hide behind fake scents.

Which is _another _thing Dean hates. It makes him feel vaguely exposed, and by the end of the second month he’s caved and bought himself some kind of weird cologne for alphas. It’s kind of pathetic, but when he finds one that smells sort of fresh and crisp, he looks no further. The lack of sweetness to it is disappointing, but sometimes Dean catches faint traces of it and for a moment, it makes him think of Cas, which makes him think of home. It’s kind of — comforting, not that he’ll ever admit it aloud.

He _is_ homesick, though. The distance starts to wear on him after a few months, and it’s almost like his body can tell, because he gets sick again, a lot like he was when he first came here. He’s only laid up for a week this time, but it’s a shitty week, and Dean spends a lot of time hiding in bed and cuddling the fluffiest pillow he can get his hands on, pining away for home like he never has before, not even when he was at war.

Having to spend the whole day dodging Antonia, then going to sleep on his own, only to wake up the next day and do it all over again . . .

Being in Lettra is pretty much the most isolating experience he’s ever had.

It doesn’t help that shit hits the fan in Eden not too long after he makes it there, and in addition to letters suddenly having to travel in a half-circle through Hellenia, Dean has to live with knowing Sam and Cas are probably panicking over it and there’s nothing he can do to help, not for them or their friends in Eden.

By the sixth month, Dean’s about ready to just ride home and tell his Dad to go fuck himself if he has a problem with it. Letters were taking forever to begin with, but then the castle post tells him some bullshit about bandits and ‘route difficulties’ and suddenly Dean’s not getting letters _at all. _He doesn’t even know if his are making it there, either, and he feels completely cut off and anxious and just — sick to death of all of it. The only reason he _doesn’t_ take off is because being here is supposed to be a punishment in the first place, and if he doesn’t see it through, his Dad’ll find something else, something worse; and he might target _someone_ else, this time. Someone like Sam or, more likely, _Cas_.

So Dean forces himself to stay put, even when Hess and Toni pack up and risk the Hellenian wilds to go have tea with John for some incomprehensible reason. He spends the month and a half they’re gone pacing a hole in his room and spending too much time in the city taverns, but he stays put.

Just a few more months, he tells himself. A few more months of this dull, impotent hell, and then he can go home to Sam and Cas and the rest of his crew, and maybe they can figure out something to do about the Eden situation.

The only silver lining, through it all, is that the stress of traveling and being away from home means he’s having those weird, adolescent ruts again, over and done with in two or three days and a piece of cake to manage on his own. It’s nice, because there’s no way in hell he’s about to try and find some random Lettran to help him; even if the perfume didn’t make his nose itch, you’re just more _vulnerable _in cycle, and he doesn’t trust any of these stiff-lipped vultures as far as he can throw them.

Not to mention they’re all so fucking _cold. _Dean’s usually hormonal enough on his rut; the last thing he wants is to spend several days holed up in a room having someone stare at him with their dead, emotionless eyes until he starts crying.

So, yeah. Lettra is bullshit, and the year feels more like ten, but by some miracle it ends and Princess Antonia gives him one of those sharp, unnerving smiles, saying, “I look forward to seeing you again soon, Dean,” and one moment of awkward eye contact later, Dean is riding out of the gate toward sweet, blissful freedom.

The high wears off a little, once he realizes he has a several-weeks long journey ahead, but still; the closer he gets to Lawrence, the better he feels. By the time the castle finally comes into view, he’s so beside himself with excitement that a part of him wants to jump off his horse and run the rest of the way.

_Obviously_ , that’s not going to get him there faster, so he contains himself — but the minute his horse is through the gate, he hops down and shoves the reins at one of the waiting stablehands and turns to collect his way, way, _way _overdue hugs.

Except — besides the stablehands and a variety of staff meant to unpack him and his guards’ shit from the journey, the courtyard is _empty._

A man he recognizes as one of his Dad’s servants steps forward.

“Welcome home, your highness. The King would see you right away, unless you have need of the facilities,” he says, face impassive.

And no, Dean has no goddamn need of the facilities, but he _does _need to know why the hell nobody’s here to meet him.

Is his Dad seriously still pissed? Is this a bitchy, middle-aged alpha thing Dean’s just going to have to deal with going forward? Is he going to put Dean in some kind of solitary confinement for the next six months?

(And will that be better or worse than having to eat dinner with Princess Antonia every day?)

More irritated than afraid, Dean grudgingly follows the man into the castle and over to the council room.

As always, his Dad makes him wait. It might be as long as twenty minutes before John finally sets aside his parchment and fixes Dean with an inscrutable stare.

After a long, uncomfortable moment of silence, Dean lifts his chin.

“You wanted to see me, sir?”

“I did, son. Have a seat.”

Dean tries not to let his alarm show, and pulls out the chair adjacent.

“Nice trip?” John asks abruptly, and it’s a struggle not to roll his eyes.

“Swell.” He forces himself to smile, not that his Dad really cares. “Glad to be back.”

John says nothing, still watching him.

“You’ve heard about what’s been going on in Eden, I assume.”

“Well, yeah. Queen Hess is pretty pissed about the trade issues, and even if she weren’t, the sudden postal failure probably would have tipped me off.”

John’s face twitches, but Dean can’t even begin to know why.

“Postal failure?”

“Yeah. Haven’t gotten a damn letter in — what? Six months? More?”

There’s a long pause.

“I see,” John says slowly. “Huh. Well. Then I suppose you wouldn’t know anything about what’s going on here, either.”

Dean blinks.

“What?” This must be why his Dad wanted to see him right away; Dean didn’t notice anything weird going on since arriving in Lawrence, but he was kind of preoccupied with resting up and eating so he could get back on the road toward home. “What _is_ going on?”

John leans back in his chair.

“Congratulations, Dean,” he says, and before Dean can ask ‘why,’ he continues: “You’re no longer married.”

And Dean must have spent too long in Lettra, listening to their ridiculous accents, because there’s no way he heard his Dad right just now.

“I’m sorry? I’m no longer _what_?”

John shrugs.

“You’re no longer married.”

Dean doesn’t even know what to do with that.

“What the hell does that mean?”

His Dad just sighs.

“It means the Edenish boy ran off with the Lettran ambassador, and since Eden shut its borders without a by-your-leave, to boot, you got your wish, Dean. No more treaty to bother about, no more duties for you to completely fuckin’ ignore, and the brat gets to do whatever the hell he wants now, just like _you _wanted.”

The bottom of his stomach dropped out sometime around ‘the Edenish boy ran off with the Lettran ambassador,’ and Dean is still reeling.

“The — the who ran off with the _what_—”

“Jesus,” John mutters, shaking his head. “Needed more time in the damn schoolroom. Anyway, your husband — who you were so keen not to treat like one — ran off with the girl Queen Hess sent over.”

Dean just stares, uncomprehending.

“Fortunately,” John continues. “There’s fuck-all to worry about, as far as Eden is concerned.”

“You divorced us,” Dean blurts out, horrified.

John snorts.

“Well, yeah, son. Boy’s a traitor to Lawrence, and we sure as hell don’t want him back.”

“That makes it sound like—”

“He’ll be arrested and executed if he tries to return? Obviously. Hope he’s happy with the girl.”

And Dean isn’t even going to think about Cas running off with somebody, because that’s just — it’s just — there’s _no way._

“We’re missing something here,” he says, as calmly as he can. “You should have sent someone after him. We could be looking at a — an _abduction, _Dad; it’s happened before, and Cas could be—”

“He left Sam a note.”

“Well, then he wrote it under duress! Cas wouldn’t — he’d never—”

John rolls his eyes.

“Well, he did, Dean. I don’t know why you’re acting so upset. While on the one hand, it’s a damn good thing he never got around to giving you heirs, if you’d been doing your job right, maybe he wouldn’t have run off with the first pretty face to come sniffing around.”

Dean swallows, hands curling into fists by his side.

“He _didn’t. _ He didn’t do that — Sam must have told you, that note is _bullshit, _and Cas is in trouble, if he’s not already dead, and you just let him—”

“No, _you _let him. You fucked up. Don’t blame it on other people, Dean. And for the record, your brother might not have been happy about it, but he didn’t say a word to me about not believing it. I guess he knew the boy better than you did.”

What the_ hell_? How could Sam just accept that, when it was so obvious—

“And that’s another thing, Dean. You knew this was a problem. It happened with Sam, and it was only a matter of time before it happened again. Kid was flighty as hell, and you couldn’t be bothered to fix his interest. You’re damn lucky Eden’s too tied up for there to be consequences to this clusterfuck.”

Dean just shakes his head. His Dad doesn’t know shit. Dean took care of Cas, Dean _knew _ Cas, and Cas would never just — _leave. _And if he was going to, he’d wait until he said goodbye to Dean.

Wouldn’t he?

Regardless of anything, the fact remains that there’s no way in hell Cas left him, left _Sam, _ and ran away with somebody, not when Dean was gone and he had no idea what was happening to Anna and Valencia in Eden. Just _no._

“I’m going after him,” Dean announces, and John stares.

“Like hell. You’ve been gone a year, and now you’re staying put. I’ve been in talks with Lettra, and since Eden’s a mess and you’re no longer married—”

Dean’s stomach lurches.

“Oh, _hell _no.”

“Excuse me?”

“You want me to marry _Antonia_? That’s what this is about?”

“First of all, if I do want you to marry her? You’re going to. Second of all, nothing’s set in stone, but — realistically, Hess and I can’t wait around for ten years while Eden gets their shit together. There’ll be nothing left of it, if this goes on long enough, and neither one of us wants giant wasteland in between us.”

“Are you — are you proposing we invade _Eden_?”

“Not yet. Hess’d like to, but then, there’s mostly upside for her. Eden’s huge. In shambles or not, I don’t exactly feel like marching off to war if we don’t have to, and I definitely don’t feel like cleaning up their fucking mess once it’s done with. But if we have to —”

“If we have to, _nothing, _there’s no way in hell—”

“Don’t you interrupt me—”

“Don’t you do — _whatever _it is you’re trying to do! I don’t give a damn about your drama with Hess and Eden. You’re completely overlooking this thing with Cas, and until I figure out what the hell happened and make sure he’s okay, I’m not doing a goddamn thing you say.”

“You think you’ve got a choice—”

“Whether I do or don’t, I’m taking it anyway,” Dean spits, and for the first time in his life, he walks out on his Dad.

He’s gotta talk to Sam.

“How the hell could you let him go?”

Sam flinches, swiveling on the training field to face him.

“Shit — Dean—”

“Don’t you fucking ‘Dean’ me, I asked you a goddamn question, Sam.”

“Dean, let me explain.”

“Then _explain, _ because I don’t get it! Obviously something happened to Cas and Dad has his head up his ass, as usual, and the one person I can rely on to be _sane — _ the person I _told _ to look after the kid — _let him go_! I — shit, Sammy, how long has it even _been_ ? How long have you been sitting on your ass while — while _anything _could be happening to Cas?”

Sam gives him a helpless look, eyes wide and sad and sporting deep purple marks beneath them. He looks exhausted in general, if Dean’s being honest, but Dean can’t care about that right now.

Not when Cas is _gone, _ and he doesn’t even know the first place to begin looking. Doesn’t even know if Cas is _okay._

“Dean, let’s — let’s go, um. Let’s sit down somewhere. Okay?”

Everyone’s staring, and Dean can smell how upset he is — how upset they _both _are — but — but -

“Fine,” he mutters, and stomps off toward the castle.

Sam follows him all the way to his chamber, where Dean immediately pulls out one of his already-unpacked bags and throws it on the bed.

“Okay. Explain,” he says, and heads for the wardrobe to start packing. “Explain why some stupid Lettran bitch kidnapped Cas and you just said, ‘okay.’”

“Dean,” Sam says quietly, slumping into the armchair. “It — I don’t think that’s what happened.”

Dean pauses, giving him an incredulous look.

“What the hell else could have happened?”

Sam shrugs, eyes miserable.

“Cas and Bela . . . I mean, he was — he was getting pretty attached to her.”

Dean throws up his hands.

“So she lulled him into a false sense of security before she attacked him! No fucking surprise, Cas is young and he doesn’t know any better. That doesn’t change the fact that the Cas _I _ know would never just _leave. _Not willingly.”

Sam hesitates.

“I mean. I mean, I would have said that, but — maybe he would? If — if he liked her that much.”

“Are you fucking kidding me, right now?”

“Look, I — I get where you’re coming from, but — if Bela attacked him, she wouldn’t have stood a chance.”

“So she drugged him!”

“And then managed to get him all the way out of the castle and onto a horse without leaving a trace? And kept him drugged long enough to get wherever they went, without anyone ever catching up to them? Dean, Hess sent out search parties, hellbent on having them _both _ executed, but they turned up nothing. No offense to Bela, but — you think a small, untrained beta chick could manage _Cas _if he didn’t want to be managed?”

Dean’s panic is like a live thing, trying to claw its way out through his chest.

“Yes? I don’t know! I just — how could he up and leave like that, Sam? It doesn’t make any goddamn sense.”

“I know. I know, I thought — it was a surprise to me, too, but—”

“Then why didn’t you go _find _him?”

Sam stands up, irritated.

“I had no idea where they _went_! You think I didn’t think of that, of looking, to be sure? Dean, the search parties set out the very next morning, with orders to kill Bela on sight and bring Cas back for _trial. _ Do you get what that means? If Cas _did _go willingly—”

“Well, he didn’t! It would have been fine!”

Sam shuts his mouth, lips thin where they press together.

“She was visiting him in your room, Dean,” he finally says, and Dean drops the shirts in his hand, head jerking up to stare at him.

“Excuse me?”

“Bela. I caught her coming out of your room in the evenings _twice. _ Never mind the times she went to see him in the library when I wasn’t there, and never mind anything else I _didn’t _ catch. And I confronted Cas, asked him if there was something he maybe wanted to tell me, and he said _no._”

“Well, obviously he was lying!” Dean refuses to think about the other stuff Sam is saying, about some Lettran _asshole_ sneaking in and out of their room while Dean was away, about what she could possibly have hoped to achieve in doing so.

“Yeah, Dean, _obviously_ ! Which means that whatever it was, he didn’t — he wouldn’t even tell me. He tells me _everything. _But he wouldn’t tell me about this. What do you think that means?”

Dean shakes his head, snatching the shirts back up.

“It means she was probably _threatening_ him. God, he must have been terrified, but I bet she told him he couldn’t tell anyone, and then she forced him to go with her. And now he’s — now he could be in danger or — or he could already be — and — and _god damn it, _it’s all our fucking fault. You should have gone after him, and I should have come the minute the post started having issues, Dad be damned, and—”

“Dean, stop it,” Sam says quietly. “Is it that hard to believe Cas — decided to go with her?”

“Are you fucking _kidding _ me? Of course it is! He was happy here! He was becoming a knight, he had friends, he had — ” _H_ _e had me. _“Everything he could possibly want! Why the hell would he give it up to live in exile with some Lettran douchebag?”

Sam just looks at him, hollowed-out and tired.

“I don’t — I’m not disagreeing, Dean. I think, wherever Cas is, he’s probably regretting that decision. But if he went willingly, and I’m pretty sure he did, then he can’t come back. And you say he had everything, but — come on, Dean. He’s nineteen.”

“Twenty,” Dean mutters, bundles of clothing in a death grip. “Two weeks ago.”

“The point is — feelings are, um. They’re hard, at that age. And if — if he really liked Bela, I — it’s Cas, man. Once he gets an idea . . .”

“No,” Dean argues, adamant. “No, I — I get that, I get what you’re saying, but — he wouldn’t, Sammy, he _wouldn’t._”

Because Dean remembers, vividly, Cas clinging to him at the gate. Cas pleading to go with him — hell, Cas pleading with Dean to _make it real _before he went, even if he clearly didn’t get what that would entail, because he was so desperate to ensure he and Dean would stay married, that they’d get to stay best friends and spend time together they way they always had.

Cas was practically in _tears _when he made Dean promise things would always be the way they were. Dean — Dean can’t believe he’d just . . . throw away their friendship and run off with someone else, without even waiting to say goodbye to Dean. He’d never do that.

Would he?

“Fuck.” Dean rubs his eyes, suddenly exhausted. “How the fuck did this happen?”

Sam shrugs, eyes sad.

“Dad made you leave. And Cas . . . it was hard on him. I mean, it’s always hard on him, when you go away, but I think it was even harder this time. And then Val left, and Eden’s civil war started, and we stopped even getting letters from you, and — I don’t know if he was just — feeling vulnerable, or what, but suddenly Bela was sneaking around to talk to him, and they had this air like they were sharing secrets, and Cas wouldn’t tell me, and . . .”

Yeah, alright. So if all of Dean’s instincts are wrong, if Cas actually did think he fell in love with this skanky Bela chick and let her persuade him to run off into the sunset . . . then it’s Dean’s fault.

He never should have left. And he should have come back at the first sign of trouble, should have been there for Cas, should never have left him feeling like he didn’t know what to do.

It’s just — Sam was here. And even though Dean knows Cas isn’t in love with Sam anymore, he also knows that feelings are complicated, and some part of him thought that that would be enough until Dean could come home.

And Dean is just going to assume that there’s no way Bela could have gotten her claws in him if Dean was there, too, because at the very least, Dean wouldn’t have been as hands off as Sam.

Dean would have gotten rid of her, one way or another, the second he thought she was trying anything.

Sam walks over to the escritoire, pulling open a drawer and taking out a folded sheet of parchment.

“Here’s his note. If you want.”

Wordlessly, Dean accepts it, flipping it open to Cas’s smooth, loopy cursive.

_Sam,_

_ I’m sorry I didn’t wake you. Bela and I are in a hurry._

_ Please don’t worry, though. I’m safe. Bela will take care of me._

_ Until we meet again,_

_ Cas_

He’s not sure what he was expecting — something with a clear SOS between the lines, maybe — but this wasn’t it.

“No, she won’t, you dumbass,” Dean mumbles to himself. He feels dried out and caved in, and he can’t believe he failed so miserably that Cas thinks the kind of woman who’d take him away from where he was safe, where he was _happy_, would ever take care of him the way he deserved.

“Do you — do you see?” Sam asks, tentative. “I — it didn’t sound like . . .”

“Yeah, no.” Dean swallows. “But — Sammy, I have to go find him. Whatever happened — I need to see him. I need to make sure he’s okay.”

Sam nods.

“Okay. I’ll come, too.”

Dean shakes his head.

“Dude, this is as unsanctioned as it gets — Dad’s gonna flip when he finds out I actually went. Last time I pissed him off, he sent me abroad for a year.”

“Right, which means you’d be going without a guard.”

“I can handle it.”

“That doesn’t mean you _should. _ I already — _we’ve_ already lost Cas. If something stupid happens to you while you’re looking—”

“Sam, I’ll be _fine_—”

“Even so,” Sam insists, jaw set. “I want to see Cas, too. What if this is my last chance? I want — I want to say goodbye, at least.”

Dean can’t really argue with that.

He jerks his head in the direction of Sam’s room.

“Get packed, then. I don’t know how long we’ll be gone — hell, I don’t even know where to start looking—”

Sam straightens up.

“Hellenia.”

“What?”

“I — I managed to eavesdrop, a little, and from what I got, the search parties didn’t find them, but they think they tracked them almost to the Hellenian border.”

“She took him to _Hellenia_?” Dean scrubs a hand down his face, appalled. “What the _fuck_? Take care of him my _ass!_ She gets that he’s both Edenish _and _Lawrencian, right? And they’re not that fond of Lettrans, either, for that matter. Does she have a fucking death wish?”

Sam opens his mouth.

And then the penny drops.

“Son of a _bitch,_ ” Dean swears, slamming a fist onto the bedspread. “Fuck. _Fuck. _ The Queen was here when this went down. Jesus fucking Christ, Dad told me, and I didn’t even — Sam, the Queen was _here.”_

“Um. Yeah? What—”

“Why the hell would this Bela chick wait around here for seven months and then run off with him when her monarch was sleeping two floors away?” Dean turns, pacing across the floor as it all falls into place. He’s a fucking idiot. He should have known something was up when Hess and her daughter went through Hellenia to get to Lawrence, when supposedly even the post was having trouble. “And I come home and Dad’s talking about marriage to Princess Antonia? I — shit, do you think he _knew_?”

Sam stares.

“He — _what_ ? I mean, I thought he might try and make _me _marry her, but I never—”

Dean wants to throw up.

“Bela seduced him, I just know it. And when the Queen came and it looked like talks were going well, with Eden off the chessboard, she gave the signal and — and — shit, shit, _shit. _Sam, what if she killed him? She could be snug and cozy back in Lettra right now, and Cas could be rotting in a ditch somewhere, and I — I wasn’t there.”

Sam looks as sick as Dean feels.

“I — I didn’t — I didn’t even think — but why would the Queen be so bent on finding them and having them killed if Bela was _supposed_ to take him away?”

“Just another fucking lie. They probably weren’t even looking for him. Sam — the search parties that tracked them to Hellenia, were they—”

“They were ours,” Sam says quickly.

“And did they say? Are they sure they _both _made it that far, that she didn’t get rid of him and keep on running?”

Sam hesitates.

“They couldn’t be sure, but they _thought — _in a couple towns, there was a newlywed couple that might have matched their description. I mean, it could be a coincidence, but — it could have been them.”

As much as Dean is hopeful, wants to believe that means Cas was alive and well — _is _alive and well — he also knows that that would mean Cas was complicit.

That he did, in fact, _want_ to go with Bela.

Still — Dean won’t believe it ‘til he sees it. And if it’s true, if Cas wanted this, then he deserves to know that Bela’s just stringing him along and keeping him out of the way while Lettra makes their move.

“Alright.” He takes a deep breath, returning to his half-packed bag. “Alright, get ready. We leave ASAP.”

Dean just hopes they can find Cas at all.

His Dad must seriously be dumb enough to think Dean won’t actually do it, because when he and Sam ride out an hour later, awkwardly pretending to go on a camping trip so Dean can grieve over his runaway husband, the castle guards sympathetically wave them through.

It’s a little too on the nose for Dean’s comfort, but whatever; sneaking out later would have been a pain in the ass.

“Are you okay?” Sam asks, once they’ve started down the road.

“Am I _okay_—”

“Well, obviously not like _that_ ,” Sam huffs. “But you seemed . . . _weird, _when you came out of your room.”

Dean turns scarlet.

“I’m fine,” he mutters, although Sam is right. Dean was innocently searching for a backup boot knife, because Hellenia is rough and a two-person party looks like a damn good target (he tries not to think about what that means for Cas), when he opened his nightstand drawer and found a deep red velvet bag, _A__udacious Audrey’s Adult Accessories_ embroidered across it.

_The hell is this_? he thought to himself, sure he’d never seen it before in his life, let alone stashed it in his nightstand, and went ahead and opened it.

Dean regrets it.

But if he wasn’t going to murder the shit out of Bela Talbot before, he definitely is now.

“Okay,” Sam says, uncertain, but Dean ignores him. Assuming they can even find Cas, there’s no way in hell he’d want to stay with Bela — _obviously — _ and Dean doesn’t think he’ll be comfortable if Sam knows the specifics of the . . . the . . . _stuff _ she did with him . Hell, once he finds out how Bela was lying and manipulating him, Cas’ll probably be traumatized and never wanna think about anything _like_ that again. And maybe Dean wasn’t here to protect Cas himself , but he can still protect Cas’s _dignity_.

Dean’s hands tighten on the reins. Yeah, it’s going to be a _slow _death.

It doesn’t take them long to make it to Hellenia; they debate the merits of sneaking through — neither Lawrence or Hellenia wants to go to the expense of trying to completely secure their very lengthy shared border — but ultimately decide to take the main road. The likelihood of figuring out _where _Bela and Cas crossed over and there still being any useful discoveries to be made there are slim.

No, Dean’s more interested in what happened once they made it across.

And of course, because this is just his luck, nobody knows a goddamn thing.

“It’s been months, Dean,” Sam says, and if Dean thought his brother looked bad before they left, he looks ten times worse now. Dean’s taken to checking on him every few minutes, just to make sure he hasn’t passed out and fallen off his horse. “They could have gone anywhere. And they were trying not to get caught.”

Dean, as exhausted as he is, is mostly just determined. Yeah, he lies awake at night and thinks about the worst-case scenarios, sometimes, about what could have happened to Cas — but mostly he thinks about how Bela wormed her way into the poor kid’s stupidly big heart, and how she twisted that and used that against him. How she’s either still with him, still _lying, _or she abandoned him somewhere, leaving Cas to struggle on his own.

And yeah, Dean’s feeling the strain, the fear and the hopelessness and the uncertain grief of what he might find — or _not _find — but in some ways, it’s good.

It’s good, because it keeps him going. He _has_ to find Cas, whatever that means, and he’ll do whatever the hell it takes until he does.

Finally, two weeks after they cross the border, they get lucky.

“One more thing,” Dean says, sheathing his sword as the band of thieves lay in groaning disorientation at his feet. “About four months ago — did you meet a blonde Lettran woman traveling with a dark-haired kid?”

It’s a long shot, but he and Sam are desperate; they ask anybody they come across.

Of course, as soon as Dean does, Sam always —

“Like an older kid, like he probably looked like an adult, even. Strong jaw, blue eyes, about five-eleven?”

It irks Dean, because Sam always talks like he’s describing what he looks for in a date, and while it _is _more descriptive, Dean worries they’ll get the wrong impression. That they’ll think, ‘random couple,’ instead of an innocent boy being coerced across the country by an adult predator. If they did take a second glance and noticed the obvious imbalance in the dynamic, Dean wants to make it clear that’s what he and Sam are looking for.

The guy in front of Sam coughs.

“Yeah — yeah, I remember the kid. Pretty omega, right?”

Dean bristles.

“Ex_cuse _m—”

“Maybe,” Sam says quickly. “Can you tell me more?”

They eye Sam’s sword warily.

“You’ll let us go?”

“Hey, asshole, you attacked us f—”

“We’re just looking for our friend,” Sam explains, firm. “Tell us what you know, and we’ll be more than happy to leave you be.”

“Alright,” the guy agrees. “Don’t know if it was your friend, but — yeah. Blonde woman with him, didn’t say anything. Just sicced the guy on us. Never saw an omega fight like that before.”

Sam steps forward, hope bright in his face, and the guy flinches.

“Sorry,” Sam apologizes, angling his sword away. “Just — yeah, that — he’s an excellent swordsman, one of the best. Can you — what did he look like?”

“Like you said. Except — blue eyes. Gorgeous. If I’d met him in a tavern, woulda paid a whole night on those eyes alone. ‘Course, then he kicked my ass, so maybe not.”

On the one hand, Sam already promised they were going to let them go.

On the _other _ hand_, _Dean kind of wants to run the guy through, right now.

“Dean,” Sam mutters. “Don’t.”

“I didn’t say anything,” he grits out.

“You didn’t _have _to. You smell like you’re about to rip his throat out with your bare hands.”

“Well, that’s one way to do it.”

Sam sighs, turning back to the man on the ground.

“Do you know what direction they went?”

The guy shakes his head.

“Conversation wasn’t exactly lengthy. We attacked ‘em, the omega beat the shit out of us, we came to a while later.”

Despite his upset, Dean feels a surge of pride, hearing this.

Sam sighs.

“Damn it.” He runs a hand through his hair, tucking his sword away. “Alright. That’s — that’s something, at least.”

Dean doesn’t say a word, just puts his sword away and stalks back to his horse. It’s good news, yeah, because it’s confirmation that not only was Cas definitely alive at this point, Sam and Dean are on the right track.

But they still have no idea where they went, and there’s still a chance Bela was just holding onto him until John denounced the marriage and branded him a traitor.

She could have abandoned him _anywhere, _and while yeah, Cas can hold his own in a fight — there’s other shit to worry about, shit Cas wouldn’t even know how to begin doing.

_If I’d met him in a tavern . . ._

Dean mounts his horse, swallowing down the bile and doing his best not to think about it.

Whatever happened — they’ll figure it out. Just so long as Cas is alive, Dean is gonna find him, and he’ll do whatever he can to fix things or die trying.

They ride in silence a few miles before Sam finally speaks.

“So . . . that’s — that’s good? We know he’s alive. At least, up to this point, which means he probably still is, right?”

Dean shrugs, mood still sour.

“He’d better be.” Dean’s not really ready to think about the alternative. “But we still don’t know where he is.”

“They could still be in Hellenia. I mean, dumb luck brought those guys to us — Bela and Cas were on their own, and it doesn’t look like Cas was killing anyone, so — so maybe we’ll find others.”

Dean’s heart gives a painful squeeze. God. _God. _He was always afraid of this, of what would happen when Cas finally left the castle. The kid’s incredible, when it comes to fighting, but in so many ways, he’s still the pure, innocent child who didn’t even realize his brother had sold him.

And Bela — Bela seduced him, _debauched _him, and brought him through this violent hellscape where he couldn’t even bring himself to kill people who attacked him.

Dean always thought he’d be there to help Cas through that. But Cas is on his own, unaware even of how vulnerable he really is, with no clue what’s actually happening —

“Dean,” Sam says softly. “He’s okay. We’ll find him.”

“Damn right we will.”

Sam sighs.

“We’re still going to Lettra, right? You don’t want start toward the capital, ask around the towns to be sure?”

Dean shakes his head.

“The Queen ordered this. If she didn’t dump him the moment John denounced the marriage, they’re probably holding him somewhere in Lettra. She’d never risk staying here — unless she was ready to bribe the shit out of someone, there’s no way they’d find sanctuary anywhere in Hellenia. They’d get run out of town.”

Sam hesitates.

“And — if the Queen didn’t? If they really did just — run away together?”

“Didn’t happen,” Dean insists, tired of Sam bringing this up like it’s any kind of valid theory on what went down. “Even if it did, my point stands. She’d have to sneak into Lettra and hide in a small village or something. She was an ambassador; even if she had enough money for the journey, she didn’t have the coin to bribe anybody. Besides, Hellenians are as likely to stab you in the back as soon as you pay them. Trying to settle here long-term — she’d get them both killed.”

Sam looks thoughtful.

“She did — I mean, I thought it was a vanity thing, since she talked about her collection in Lettra, but — she did steal a painting. I mean, we think.”

Dean frowns at him.

“You think?”

“_The Angels in the Valley,_” Sam tells him. “The one Mom brought back from the villages in the mountains — where you got Cas’s feather stone.”

Dean’s seen it — it used to hang in the Hall, but somebody got gravy on it, and into the vault it went — but the vault is ridiculously hard to get into, even if you’re the royal family, and there’s way better stuff to steal.

And yet, the name sticks out to him.

“Where did I hear that,” he mutters to himself.

“It’s probably nothing,” Sam points out. “She collects that kind of thing, after all.”

“Probably stole most of it, too,” Dean retorts acidly. “Dirty little _thief_.”

Sam is silent for a moment.

“He went with her, Dean,” he says, quiet, and Dean stiffens.

“Under _false pretenses. _Anyway, the point is, we’re going to Lettra. They’ve gotta be there by now, and if they’re keeping Cas in some shitty dungeon somewhere, we better rescue him sooner rather than later.”

They continue on in silence.

It’s another ten miles before Dean remembers where he heard about the painting.

“Son of a _bitch,_” he swears, pulling his horse up short. “Change in plans. We’re going to the capital.”

“The capital? Of — Hellenia?”

“Yep. You and I are paying Crowley a visit.”

“_Crowley_? Why?”

“That painting she took?” Dean says. “Crowley asked for it in the treaty. Asked for a lot of shit, sure, but he tried especially hard for that one. Obviously, we said no, but —”

“But he wanted it. And you think Bela brought it to him.” Sam hesitates. “It could be a coincidence.”

“Could be,” Dean agrees, unhappy. “It doesn’t make sense, since I’m _positive _the Queen ordered this. But maybe she didn’t want to risk Bela bringing him back to Lettra, at least not right away. Bottom line, though — we’re going to the castle, and Crowley’s telling us what he knows. And if he doesn’t?”

“We make him,” Sam finishes, mouth set, and together, they ride on.

Six weeks after the incident with April, Crowley invites them to dinner.

They always dine with Crowley once a week or so — honestly, Cas suspects it’s because he gets lonely, sometimes — and it’s pleasant enough, although occasionally Crowley drinks too much wine and rambles through vague, philosophical musings until Bela coughs and excuses them.

Tonight, though, Crowley has unexpected news.

“The borders to Eden have reopened,” he announces, without preamble, and then begins cutting into his steak.

Bela and Cas freeze.

“Come again?” she manages, eyes wide. “Did you say—”

“Yes, the borders to Eden are open. Order reigns in Paradise once again.” Crowley pauses. “At least, from what I’ve heard, that’s a fitting name for her.”

“I don’t understand,” Cas says, because Bela is still gaping.

“Apparently, three months ago, Michael and Lucifer managed to off each other in a duel, the fools. The redhead took the throne.” He shakes his head. “Bad luck, that. Never works out. _Redheads._”

Cas is too astonished to take offense on his sister’s behalf.

“Anna — Anna is the King?”

“So it would seem. I expect she’ll have tried to write you, but . . .” Crowley waves a hand. “No one knows where you are. Speaking of which, she’s offered a reward for your safe return and the — _live — _capture of one Bela Talbot.”

Bela’s fork clatters against her plate.

“Oh, she _has, _has she?” she hisses. “Of all the —”

Crowley gives her a strange look, and she quiets, flushing.

“Oh, my,” he says, raising his brows. “Never say you’re already _acquainted._”

“Something of the sort,” she mutters, composing herself. “In any case, we’re glad of the news. Of course, you’ll understand if we excuse ourselves early. We’ll be wanting to . . . write.”

Crowley gives her an appraising look, then smirks.

“Of course,” he echoes dryly, then returns to his wine with a small, smug smile.

Bela seems very irate, but Cas is mostly just overwhelmed with relief. There’s no news of Valencia, of course, and it’s . . . shocking, to hear of Michael and Lucifer, but his sister is alive and well, and Eden is — stable, at least, by the sounds of it.

“We’re going to Eden, aren’t we?” Cas asks, as soon as they’ve bid Crowley good night and headed back toward their chambers.

“Of course. Even if we weren’t already, this changes things.” Her eyes harden. “Anna wants you returned _safe and sound_? Well, then I’m happy to oblige.”

Bela doesn’t really sound happy — her tone isn’t very nice at all — but Cas gathers that her and Anna’s relationship is . . . complicated.

It’s just as well that Bela is so keen to go; it saves Cas the trouble of having to convince her. While he intended to go to Eden one way or the other, the idea of Anna and Bela staying parted for good seemed . . .

Wasteful, perhaps.

(Cas’s curiosity is a persistent, demanding thing, sometimes.)

Bela excuses herself to pack, a force to her gait that has Cas keeping his good night brief.

“Be ready by the morning,” she tells him, brusque, and then shuts her door behind her.

Cas isn’t bothered. He’d expected her to want to delay a few days, nitpicking over their plans, and he can’t help but be delighted that she shares his eagerness to go.

And, if he’s being honest — he’s a little hopeful, too.

If Anna’s okay — if _Eden _is okay — then perhaps Lawrence won’t make a deal with Lettra, after all.

Perhaps, if Cas is very, very lucky —

Their journey to Eden could be the start of his path _home_.

Two weeks after changing course, Sam and Dean reach the castle.

As expected, the guards are . . . not especially happy to see them.

Anyway, Dean’s confident he could have handled it on his own, but in the privacy of his own head, he’ll admit to being kinda glad Sam is with him. A shared burden (or group of enemy foes) is halved, and all that.

“So — do you, um, do you know where we’re going?” Sam asks, once they’ve stashed their horses in a scraggly copse of trees and picked their way over the unconscious guards into the courtyard.

“Yeah, I think I remember. Dude likes to lounge in his throne room.”

“And that’s . . .?”

“Uh. Probably don’t wanna go through the front door, but if we go around that wall, to the left, there should be a side entrance, and I, uh, I think I can find my way from there?”

Sam looks doubtful.

“Shut up, it was like, four-and-a-half years ago, okay? I’ll figure it out.”

Dean takes a couple wrong turns, but he’s hoping Sam is confused enough not to realize they went in a bit of a circle.

Anyway, true to form, Crowley is sprawled on his throne, squinting at a lengthy manuscript when the two of them burst in, swords drawn.

He startles, dropping his manuscript and swearing.

“What in the bloody — _Squirrel_!”

Guards rush forward, but to Crowley’s credit, he hastily throws up a hand.

And Dean can see Sam’s sword hand twitch, see him sort of looking at Dean, like maybe he wants to ask about the whole ‘squirrel’ thing, but Dean pointedly ignores him.

“Good to see you, too, asshole. Hope you’re enjoying your damn painting. Now — _w__here the hell is my husband_?”

Crowley stares at them for a long, stunned moment.

And then, slowly, his lips curl up.

“Goodness,” he drawls. “The plot thickens.”

Dean scowls, stepping forward.

“I swear to God, if you’ve hurt him-”

“You’ll what?” Crowley looks him over, appraising. “Given that lovely little announcement King John put out a few months back, I’m going to assume you actually _haven’t _got an army waiting on my front lawn. Is it just you two, then, or am I to be reunited with the teddy bear and the — much as it pains me to admit — adorable ginger?”

Dean narrows his eyes.

“You think it’s gonna matter?”

“I see. Just you two, then.” Crowley eyes them, considering. “What was it you wanted, now?”

“My husband,” Dean grits out. “You’ve got him. I want him back.”

“Mm.” Crowley shrugs. “The problem is, my dear squirrel, last I heard? You haven’t _got _a husband. Though you might be in the market for a bride; big of Hess to travel all that way through our dirty little kingdom, just for you.”

“That’s — there’s been a misunderstanding. And I’m gonna fix it, but first, I want Cas. And while we’re at it, we’re bringing that Lettran dickbag back with us, too.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“For fuck’s sake, Crowley — you’ve got the painting. I’m not even going to try and take it back. Just — tell me where I can find Cas before I send your dumbass kingdom straight back into anarchy.”

Crowley frowns.

“Ah. I forgot that about you. Not a very good guest.”

“Crowley—”

Crowley lifts his palms, mock-sympathetic.

“Sorry, Squirrel.” He glances at Sam, one corner of his mouth pulling up. “_Moose. _They’re not here.”

“You expect me to beli—”

“They _were _here,” Crowley interrupts regretfully. “But you see, while the two of you were no doubt bumbling through the countryside, Eden reopened.”

Dean nearly drops his sword.

“It — _what_?”

“Yes. The old king is dead, long live the new one.”

“Who—”

“Anna, actually. Those other two imbeciles managed to murder each other in one fell swoop. She’s been cleaning up their mess these last few months, and we received word . . . two weeks ago?”

Sam and Dean exchange uneasy glances.

“So you’re telling me—”

“Your not-husband is gone, I’m afraid. Bela packed him up and took him to Eden.”

Dean stares, trying to process this.

“But — why? Did you kick her out, or something? Does she think Eden’ll be chaotic enough they can hide there instead? She’s gotta know if Anna finds out—”

“You are as stupid as I remember,” Crowley says pleasantly. “Ah, well. I’ve told you everything I know. Say hello to the boy for me, would you? I confess, I was growing rather fond of him.”

“He has that effect on people,” Dean mutters, and promptly turns and stalks out of the room.

“So . . . Eden?”

Dean glances at Sam, hoisting himself onto his horse.

“Yeah. I guess.”

There’s a pause.

“Everything . . . okay?”

“Seriously?”

“You know what I mean.”

Dean stares hard at the road ahead, unable to bring himself to respond.

“It’s stupid,” he finally says. “I mean, we knew he was probably on board, but . . .”

“But?”

“He had to have known I’d come after him, right? That I’d be back in Lawrence by now, and _obviously, _I’d — you know.”

Sam hesitates.

“I . . . maybe?”

“And shit, maybe Cas worked his tragic angel magic on her to get her to take him to see his sister, but — he could have waited, you know? He knows Anna’s alive and well, so — so he could have _waited_.”

“Well — he, um. He might . . . not have. He might have thought you’d be mad.”

“The hell would I be mad at _him_ ? Bela’s the one who — who -” He swallows. “And anyway, even if I was pissed, I’d go after him. I’d never just — let things _go_ . I mean, for fuck’s sake, we’ve been married for _six years, _Sam. He’s my best friend. There’s no way in hell I could just leave things like this.”

“Right, and I get that, but — this is Cas, man. He’s not always . . . I mean, he can be kind of — oblivious? He’s always had . . . weird ideas, about things.”

And Sam’s not wrong — God knows Dean’s had to deal with a shit ton of those weird ideas firsthand — but _still._

The way they left things, before Dean went to Lettra — it was hard enough to believe Cas just ran away with Bela like that, practiced seduction efforts or not, but to think Cas would assume Dean wouldn’t insist on making sure he was okay, on saying _goodbye, _even—

Has Dean done that shitty a job the last few years? For Christ’s sake, Cas knows how much Dean loves him. Dean basically told him before he left. Hell, Dean as good as promised he’d be coming back for Cas, and even if Dean would be coming back anyway, that — it didn’t mean _nothing._

Like, shit — is _Cas _ okay with just — never seeing Dean again? Never seeing Sam or any of the others? Just what kind of number did Bela _do _on him?

“It’ll be okay, Dean. We’ll go to Eden, and we’ll find Cas, and we’ll just — we’ll see.”

“Yeah.” He swallows past the lump in his throat, not quite able to meet Sam’s eyes, especially when he knows they’ll be full of pity. “I guess we’ll see.”

“I’m sorry, _who _is at the gate?”

The guards exchange looks, then one of them coughs.

“Apologies, your majesty. A woman fitting the description of, and claiming to be, Bela Talbot is at the gate. But . . . she appears to have brought the missing Prince Castiel. They’re both in custody, at present. We await your order.”

Anna just stares.

“She _what_?”

“Ah.” The guard hesitates. “She is . . . in custody? With — presumably your majesty’s brother?”

“Is she—” Anna takes a deep breath. “Is she turning herself in? Did she say?”

The guard winces.

“Ah. No, your majesty. She . . . indicated that she wished to collect her reward for the Prince’s safe return.”

There’s a long silence.

Beside the throne, Valencia sighs.

“Oh, _hell _no,” Anna mutters, tugging at the collar of her over-warm fur cape. It was too long for Michael and it’s too long for her, and the hem is forever collecting dirt, which means the poor laundry has to scrub away at it half the night and return it to her white and pristine the next morning.

Anna would really, really like to burn the damn thing.

“Bring them to me,” she orders. With a deep bow, the guards leave the room.

“So. Scale of one to ten, how do you feel?” Valencia asks, politely interested, once the door shuts.

Anna just grimaces.

“What the hell is she doing?”

“I’m not _not _curious,” Valencia agrees, and Anna slumps against the extravagantly upholstered throne.

“I thought King John was full of it, you know — obviously Bela was up to something. She’s never _not _up to something.”

“Right, though?”

“Exactly! And it’s hardly a coincidence, that she — that she—”

“’With your own brother,’” Valencia supplies helpfully, and Anna shoots her a suspicious look, because it almost sounds like she’s quoting something.

“The only one I _like__d_ _, _even,” Anna mutters. “No, this was deliberate. John’s a fool.”

Anna has rather had enough of foolish kings, but there’s little to be gained by dwelling on it.

No, she’d much rather dwell on the fact that she’s had enough of impetuous Lettran charlatans who _ruin her little brother’s life, _knowing full well how Anna would feel about it.

Because it’s Anna’s favorite brother, and she was forced to stand by while it happened six years ago. She’s not about to do it again.

It’s really nothing _personal._

“Sure it’s not,” Valencia murmurs, patting her shoulder, and Anna startles.

“What?”

“Nothing. You just . . . wait here. I’m right there with you.”

“Thank you,” Anna says stiffly, and then huffs. “You know, I bet she’s the one who put the idea in Hess’s head. It’s so obvious what happened there, I don’t understand how King John doesn’t see it.”

“It’s a mystery.”

“Isn’t it? And even if _Dean _ was away, he should have — he should have come _back_ ! And what was _Sam _ doing, while that vile woman — while she — _debauched _ my _baby brother _ right beneath his nose! And then coerced him into running away from _home_?”

Valencia frowns.

“That is a very good question,” she says, as she always does when Anna vents her spleen on whichever parties she feels most responsible at any given moment.

The tirade is cut short, of course, by the doors reopening.

Anna leaps out out of the chair, hastily descending the marble steps before the guard is even all the way in.

“Your majesty,” he greets her again. “Your majesty’s prisoner, and Prince Castiel. That is, we think.”

There’s an impatient huff.

“I lived here until I was _fourteen, _Jofiel. How can you not recognize me?”

Jofiel shifts uneasily.

“Apologies, your highness. One likes to be sure, and you’ve . . . changed, a great deal.”

And then Cas is stepping around him, and it’s definitely Cas, hair like a flustered raven’s feathers and blue eyes bright. Anna’s eyes start to water, kingliness bee damned.

“Hello, Anna,” he says, a touch sheepish, and she doesn’t think twice about racing forward and throwing her arms around him.

“You _idiot,_ ” she mumbles, squeezing him tight. “I was so _worried, _when I heard. How could you do that?”

“What?”

“She’s — I should have warned you, told you how — how devious and — and _heartless _ she was, but you — I never thought she’d stoop so _low _—”

“Anna, what are you talking about?” Cas asks, arms loosening as he starts to pull back.

“Bela!” she exclaims, firmly clutching his shoulders, and she does _not _ sound hysterical, damn it. “Of all the people you could have thrown everything away for — people like that only care about you if they can _use _ you, Cas, and she _ is _using you. I’m amazed she hasn’t already dropped you somewhere, but I suppose we’ll discover her motives soon enough.”

Cas tilts his head, and as much as Anna would say she doesn’t experience any stereotypical alpha sentimentalities, the familiar sight has her wanting to stash him somewhere in a nest full of soft things while she violently murders whatever monster snatched him away in the first place.

“Anna — you don’t understand, Bela saved me—”

“I wouldn’t bother, Castiel,” a dry voice calls from the hall, and Anna stiffens. “I believe it’s just her nature. The alpha in her, if you will, seeing villains everywhere they aren’t. Rather like a . . . _ dog, _with a chew toy.”

“Bela,” Anna snarls, and Jofiel steps aside, allowing her to finally enter the room. Anna doesn’t think twice, just tugs Cas behind her and stalks forward, meeting Bela nose to nose.

Bela doesn’t even flinch.

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t kill you here and now.”

“Michael would roll over in his grave, I’m sure. All that blood in his throne room.”

“Don’t talk about my brother.”

“Please,” Bela scoffs, rolling her eyes. “You would have killed him yourself, if you thought you could get away with it. After what he did to Cas.”

“At least _ that _ turned out. You, though — you took _ everything _ from him. How _ could _you? We’ve never been friends, but I thought we parted on neutral terms, at least.”

Bela swallows, though her face remains maddeningly impassive.

“Neutral terms. Alright.”

“Is this — is this really just a game to you?” Anna demands. “He can’t go _back, _ now. He loved it there, he loved _Dean, _he could have been happy forever, but you . . . I don’t understand you.”

There’s a terse silence.

“I suppose you don’t,” Bela says finally, and inhales deeply. After a pause, her mouth twists, strangely wry. “Cold — as winter’s night. And just as dark, I daresay.”

Ah, yes. That would be the one upside to this nightmare; Anna started smelling like herself — _just _herself — within a couple of weeks of hearing what happened.

“And you still reek of dead flowers,” Anna mutters, turning abruptly.

She’s angry, of course. She hasn’t stopped being angry, not since Lucifer surprised Michael with a rebellion and pride ultimately killed them both, and certainly not since she found out what Bela had done to Cas.

But there are other feelings, too, feelings that make her tired and helpless, and seeing Bela’s face after three years, utterly absent of remorse—

“Get her out of my sight,” she commands. “I’ll decide what to do with her later.”

“What? Wait—” Cas hurries forward, catching hold of Anna’s sleeve. “Anna, stop. You need to listen. I’m not . . . I, uh. I don’t understand, exactly, what happened — with you and Bela. But she saved my life, and found us sanctuary, and now she’s brought me to you.”

“Cas,” Anna implores, despairing. “You don’t understand. I know you — she’s told you things, and it’s in your nature to believe her, but whatever she’s said, she’s been _lying_—”

“Queen Hess sent her to poison me,” Cas interrupts up, frustration evident. “And she warned me, before that, that there would be trouble. And instead of doing it — and she has before — she took me to Hellenia, where we’d be safe. Anna, she can _never _go back home.”

“To be fair—” Bela starts, and Anna whirls, glaring.

“Shut up.”

Bela sighs.

“Fine. Have it your way.”

Anna turns away again, unable to look at her while she tries to pick apart Cas’s story and understand the lie.

“So she told you Hess wanted you dead.”

“Hess did. She wants . . .” Cas deflates a little. “She wants her daughter to marry Dean, instead.”

“Well, obviously. That much, I put together. But don’t you see, Cas? I — it was probably Bela’s idea in the first place. She _told _you she was saving you, but really, she was getting you to run away.”

Bela snorts.

“Right, which is exactly why I spent months figuring out how to steal that bloody painting. You’re clearly not as clever as I gave you credit for, if you think Hess thought running away to _Hellenia _was a good solution.”

“You took him to _Hellenia_?” Anna repeats, swiveling in horror.

“King Crowley’s castle himself. He’s not a terrible host, to be honest,” Bela adds, shrugging.

“You — to — but—”

“I hope you’re more eloquent when you deliver my sentence. I’d hate for the executioner to get _confused._”

Anna takes a deep breath, staring hard at her.

“If that’s the case,” she starts, settling on the obvious hole in the story, “Why did you do it?”

“Pardon me?”

And she can sound as bored and unaffected as she wants, but Anna catches the way her gaze falters, the way her fingers curl at her sides.

“If Hess wanted my brother dead — which seems excessive, by the way — then why didn’t you just kill him?”

Bela’s mouth thins.

“Are you not familiar with Lawrencian law? If your brother bears children by Dean, even after the divorce, they’re technically still valid heirs. It’s been on the books for a few hundred years; some King or other put it in place to protect vulnerable parties from political shenanigans.”

“You didn’t answer the question,” Anna insists, although no, she didn’t know that, and yes, especially knowing Hess, Anna can see how she wouldn’t want _that _thread left loose.

“I answered enough. If it’s all the same to you, I’d like to return to peaceful exile in Hellenia, now.”

Cas makes an outraged noise.

“Bela,” he grumbles. “Show her.”

Bela blinks.

“Sorry?”

“_Show her._”

She stares at him, mouth open.

“You can’t be serious.”

“I am _very _ serious, and — you’re both ridiculous. Show her, or I’ll _tell _her.”

Bela glances at Anna in alarm, color high.

“Go ahead. She’ll know I lied to you. As I do.”

Cas groans.

“You did _not _ lie, you — you _assbutt. _Anna, Bela is—”

“Alright, that’s enough, Castiel,” Bela declares, undeniably frantic. “I brought you to your sister, and now I’d like to return to Hellenia.”

Anna glances back to find her brother looking as unimpressed as she’s ever seen him.

“I don’t understand why you’re being this way,” he complains, and if the situation weren’t both surreal and terrible, Anna would laugh at the petulance in his tone.

“Because—” Bela huffs. “You were _wrong,_” she hisses. “Now — let me go.”

Cas squares his shoulders, opening his mouth—

“Oh, for God’s sake!” she cries, furiously pushing her hair back from her face. “You _wretched, _ ungrateful _ brat. _ After everything I’ve had to give up , you won’t even leave me with my _dignity_—”

“What the hell is happening?” Anna wonders aloud, and Bela’s mouth snaps shut.

“Biology is bloody obnoxious and terrible, and despite feeling _every _sentiment to the contrary, I waft untrodden fields of snow.”

Silence washes over the room, and the moment recognition dawns, Anna’s jaw literally drops.

Bela stares hard at the floor.

“I’ll see myself out,” she mutters, turning on her heel and swiftly exiting the room.

A full minute passes before Valencia coughs.

“So . . . are you going to . . .”

Anna is already waving Jofiel off and racing out the door.

Cas sighs.

“People baffle me,” he mumbles, and Valencia nods, solemn.

“I know, right? A dear friend dropped in for a visit recently, and even though it’d been a _year, _he didn’t even stop to hug me.”

Cas sucks in a breath.

“Oh — but, I—”

Valencia just laughs and draws him in.

Dinner is . . . awkward, to say the least, especially because Anna is still holding court as a necessary effort toward easing the transition.

“Your majesty,” one of them declares, aghast. “Whatever has happened to your cape?”

Anna freezes.

“It . . . unfortunate . . . I’ve decided to retire it, that is. I intend to commission a new one, as a symbol of . . . Eden’s . . . bright future.”

“Oh, of course — what a splendid idea!”

Anna hums, noncommittal, while Valencia smirks into her soup.

Cas, for his part, is preoccupied with another matter. Despite apparently forestalling her trip to Hellenia, Bela came back from a worryingly long talk with Anna in an extremely grumpy mood (Cas suspects it has something to do with the vaguely _ashamed_ scent Anna was giving off when they returned, though that could have just been contrition at having so terribly maligned Bela’s character).

And now that Cas is sitting next to her, he can’t help but notice something lumpy underneath her collar, peeking white over the top.

“Bela — did something happen to your neck?”

Anna starts choking violently, the courtier beside her letting out an alarmed gasp.

“Goodness — your majesty — someone call for help, what if it’s _poison_—”

“_I’m fine,_” Anna gasps out, clutching her chest and shooting Cas an alarmed look.

“Are you sure, your m—”

“Yes, yes, thank you. Please, continue eating.”

Bela just glowers down at her plate.

“Nicked myself shaving,” she mutters, and Cas squints at her neck, dissatisfied with the answer.

“But you don’t—”

“You’re being very rude,” she snaps, brutally piercing an asparagus spear with her fork.

Cas huffs, prepared to think about it and ask her again after dinner, when it dawns on him.

“Ohh,” he murmurs, startled. “Did you, uh. Did you provoke her again?”

Bela gives him a sharp look.

“I would not have said so, no, but _apparently _—”

“And _how was the weather _on your journey here, Castiel?” Anna asks loudly. “I haven’t — I haven’t had the pleasure of traveling that far south, myself, but I hear it — it’s very pretty, until you get to Hellenia.”

Cas frowns at her. She’s speaking to him rather strangely, and he hopes this isn’t just a thing with Edenish kings.

“It was . . . nice. Hellenia’s not . . . _terrible, _in appearance, but it’s very rough. We’ve been set upon by bandits over half a dozen times.”

There are scandalized gasps around the endless-seeming table, and several of the diners turn to Bela with admiring eyes.

“How fearsome you must be, to protect Prince Castiel thus!”

Bela pauses, and then glances toward Cas with a savage smile.

“Oh, come now — I’m really not. But you know, they say Edenish omegas are the, ah, the most gently bred of them all. I’m sure I would rather fall in battle than let harm come to such a . . . precious, helpless thing.”

Cas blinks, at a loss, but then there’s a chorus of firm agreement, and the young beta man next to Bela rests a hand on her arm with a sigh.

“How valiant,” he declares. “I do hope you plan to stay.”

“I might be persuaded,” Bela agrees, flashing a smile.

When Cas looks back to the head of the table, he thinks he’s never seen Anna look more sullen than she does just then.

The weeks leading up to their arrival in Eden are a special kind of hell.

The thing is, Dean’s always been confident he’s missing part of the story here. All together, everything he knew didn’t make _perfect _sense — even Sam agreed — and he expected he’d find his answers when he found Cas, which he focused on as his primary goal.

But now he knows Cas is alive, and still with Bela, and headed to the safety of his sister’s arms, and . . .

And Dean has no idea what the hell to expect when they get there.

Maybe Bela grew a conscience? Maybe she’s really just — dropping him off at his sister’s, where he’ll be safe, pretending it’s like a — a breakup, or something, before she returns to Lettra. John went and divorced them, after all — which Dean is carefully not thinking about — so if she thinks Cas can no longer threaten the deal with Lettra, maybe she’s done using him.

If that’s the case, is Dean going to make it to the castle and find a completely heartbroken Cas? Because while this might not be his first love, Dean is pretty sure his crush on Sam was a little different than a first — _relationship _(if you can even call it that), and Dean’s sort of dreading arriving to find Cas crying into his pillow because the woman he thought he loved enough to run away with abandoned him.

But then, what if Bela’s still hanging around? What if she runs off when she hears Dean and Sam have arrived, since it’ll be obvious they’ve figured out what she’s up to? And then Cas might not be thinking straight, might even be _pissed _at them for crashing his party, and Dean — Dean doesn’t know how to handle that.

Or _worse — _ what if Bela sticks around, insisting she had nothing to do with anything? What if Cas is so brainwashed he _believes _ her? What if he wants to _stay _there, with her and his sister, and he tells Sam and Dean to turn around and go back where they came from?

It’s that last possibility that keeps Dean up at night, has his stomach in knots as they near their destination. Dean spent a year wistfully imagining his return to Lawrence, and there was never any doubt in his mind that Cas would be right there waiting, ready to welcome Dean back with open arms. Even if Cas hadn’t as good as promised it, it — it was a given, wasn’t it?

But now, for the first time ever, Dean is faced with the very real possibility that Cas — Cas might not actually be that happy to see him. And the idea of Cas turning him away . . .

It gets so bad, Sam makes him sleep outside one night, unable to tolerate whatever it is Dean’s scent is giving off.

“You have to stop worrying,” he insists. “He’s safe. That — it needs to be enough for now.”

Dean tries — he does — but he doesn’t understand how Sam _isn’t _worried. They’re best friends, too, right? Is he somehow unaware of the worst-case scenarios, or is he just blocking them out?

Cas _left. _No matter how you slice it, that happened. Isn’t Sam afraid they’ll get there and Cas _won’t want him_?

Apparently not, because Sam seems to sleep just fine — hell, ever since they heard Eden was open, Anna was good, and Cas was either there or on his way, Sam’s been downright chipper compared to how he was when Dean got back to Lawrence.

It’s fucking unfair, is what it is.

Dean pretty much doesn’t sleep at all the night before they arrive, and by the time they’re actually walking up to the gate, he’s tormenting himself with the idea that this’ll just be Hellenia all over again and Cas’ll have gone somewhere else altogether.

And sure, the guards are astounded to see them — “_Both _princes of Lawrence?” — but when they request an audience with Anna and her brother, no one gives any indication said brother isn’t there.

Which is a relief, but Dean still doesn’t know how Cas is going to react to him being there.

They wait patiently (shut up, Sam) at the gate, and an eternity later, a man in a lavender robe-dress thing wearing an _absurd _hat comes to fetch them.

It’s all Dean can do not to hurry on ahead of them, even though he doesn’t even know where they’re going.

“A moment, please,” the beta says, bowing, and then neatly brushes aside his hat’s enormous feather as he opens a pair of tall, white and gold doors.

“The Lawrencian Princes Winchester, your majesty,” he announces, then steps around the door to gesture them forth with a graceful, complicated arm motion.

Dean may or may not nudge Sam aside so he can barrel forward, eagerly searching the room.

“Where’s Cas?” he asks, and Anna, already striding toward them, looks taken aback.

“Ah — hello to you as well, Dean.”

“Hi, Anna,” he mutters. “Where’s—”

“Someone’s been sent to inform him,” she says kindly, and Dean nods, clenching his fists.

There’s always so much _waiting._

He knows he should probably ask about Bela, next, but he’ll cross that bridge when he gets to it. For now, he just wants to see Cas.

“Hey, Anna,” Sam greets her, offering a hand, which she shakes with a smile. “It’s good to see you. We were glad to hear you were safe. Though I’m sorry about . . .”

Anna nods.

“As am I. But thank you, Sam.” She smiles. “I asked someone to alert Val, as well. She can be difficult to find, though, so no promises.”

Sam looks down, huffing a laugh.

“Yeah. There’s been a lot going on here, so. You probably wish you had more time to yourself, too, I bet.”

Anna sighs.

“You don’t even _know._”

Dean, for his part, listens with only half an ear, eyes on the door as if Cas is about to randomly glide right through it like a ghost.

“She’s . . . doing alright, right?” Sam asks, rubbing his neck. “It’s, um. It’s been hard on us, without letters. We couldn’t even get them from Dean.”

Anna frowns.

“Queen Hess crossed Hellenia, but the post couldn’t?”

Sam sighs.

“Yeah, we’re pretty sure that was a lie. She didn’t want Dean figuring it out in time to stop Bela from tricking Cas into running away with her.”

Anna blinks.

“Ah. Yes, that — ah. We should probably talk ab—”

There’s a loud thump, and then the door is getting shoved open, Cas bursting through before momentum’s even carried it ninety degrees.

“Where is Dean?” he demands, and Dean straightens right up, heart pounding as he anxiously looks Cas over, trying not to worry about whether or not the fierceness to his tone is anger and if so, whether it’s directed at Dean.

It’s weird; Dean’s been reasonably confident of Cas’s safety for a while now, but finally getting to _see _him, color healthy and apparently intact, is different. Dean didn’t even realize he was still that worried, but the second he lays eyes on Cas, on all the familiar features and angles of his face, it’s like something in his soul finally exhales after months of tension.

“Cas,” he breathes, and Cas’s eyes fly to his, wide and bright and _oh, _thank fucking God, Dean doesn’t even care if Cas is pissed at him, just — just _thank God. _He’s here, and Dean’s here, and they’ll work it out, one way or the other.

Cas sucks in a breath, starting toward him.

Then he falters, brow knitting.

“Why are you here?” he blurts out.

Dean feels a little bit like he’s been punched.

“What — what do you _mean, _why am I here?” he sputters. “I’m here for _you_!”

Cas’s face just — crumples. There’s really no other way to describe it, not that Dean gets a good look, because in the next instant Cas is wrapped around him like a vine, saying things Dean can’t understand because his face is buried in the crook of Dean’s neck and fuck it, Dean doesn’t even care.

It takes some maneuvering to get his arms free since Cas has him in a death grip and he’s refusing to let go, but eventually Dean manages to bump Cas’s arms up a little so he’s free to hug Cas back, shamelessly burying his nose in his hair and breathing him in.

Because sure, there might be some difficult conversations ahead, and an hour from now, Cas might be pissed — but for the moment, this is what Dean spent a year looking forward to, and for a while, it looked like he might not get it at all.

“God damn it,” he says, kissing the side of Cas’s head. “God _damn _it.”

Cas just digs in his fingers, still trying to suffocate himself against Dean’s shoulder, and Dean’s pretty sure he’s started crying.

It’s not like Dean’s own eyes are stinging, or anything.

Cas turns his head slightly, just enough so his words are no longer muffled.

“I thought — I was afraid I’d never see you again.”

“You idiot,” Dean mumbles, and Cas stiffens, so Dean squeezes him tighter. “Of course I’d come after you. I was — I was _so _fucking pissed when I got to Crowley’s castle and he told me you’d already left. You should have waited.”

“But I didn’t know,” Cas protests, and Dean huffs. With great difficulty, he pulls back so he can look Cas in the eye.

“You seriously thought I’d get home and find you gone and just — let you _go_?”

Cas hesitates, eyes wet and miserable.

“I didn’t know,” he says again. “I thought you’d be — angry, or that your father wouldn’t let you—”

“You think if my Dad tried to stop me, I’d _listen_?” Dean interrupts, incredulous. “Newsflash, Cas, of _course _he said no. I came anyway. Sam did, too. You’re my — you’re our _best friend, _and we didn’t even get to say goodbye to you. Hell, we didn’t even know if you were _alive._”

Cas looks down.

“I left Sam a note,” he says quietly, ashamed, and Dean’s ire departs in an instant.

He draws Cas back in, and if he presses a quick kiss to the corner of his jaw, it’s really not important.

“Yeah, I — I saw that. And I’m not mad. But I was -” Dean swallows. “I was worried. I expected you to be there, and you weren’t, and my Dad was talking about — and anyway, it doesn’t matter. I caught up to you eventually, didn’t I?”

Cas just clutches at Dean’s tunic and nods, hair tickling Dean’s face with the motion.

Dean takes a deep breath.

“Okay, good. Good.” And there’s probably some stuff that should come after that, but somehow it doesn’t seem important right now, not when he’s holding Cas and Cas is holding him back and maybe the goddamn world isn’t ending after all.

Dean’s not sure how long it is before someone from the door clears their throat.

“Ah. I see I missed the reunion.”

And Dean’s never met Bela Talbot, but he knows a Lettran accent when he hears one, knows that’s where Crowley picked his up, and it feels like pure instinct that has him wrestling a disgruntled Cas behind him while Dean steps forward, drawing his sword.

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t kill you here and now,” he snarls, and Bela eyes the blade warily.

“Are you quite sure you’re only related to her through mar—”

She doesn’t get to finish, because then Anna’s shoving her back, her own Edenish rapier in hand.

“Put it away, Dean,” she commands, eyes cold, and Dean shakes his head, furious.

“Like hell. If you knew what she’d done—”

“I do, and I won’t ask you again. _ Put it away. _”

“Oh, my God,” Bela mutters. “I think _ both _of you need to ‘put it away,’ as it were.”

“You _ know _ ?” Dean repeats, incredulous. “And you’re _ defending _her? Listen, I don’t care how in love Cas thinks he is, she’s a lying bitch, and she should just be grateful if I make it quick.”

There’s a firm hand on his shoulder, and Dean starts. He knows, without turning, that it’s Cas.

“Dean—” Cas starts, and Dean grits his teeth.

“No — Cas, she _ lied _to you. She lied to you the whole time she was in Lawrence. Hess just wanted you out of the way so she could get Dad to make me marry her daughter and they could invade Eden together.”

Anna blinks.

“So they could _ what _—”

“And I know it probably seemed real to you,” Dean continues, pained, “But Bela doesn’t care about you. She just seduced you on orders, got you to give everything up, and I don’t know why she’s still hanging around, but Cas, you gotta believe me. She isn’t — _ none _of this is what you think.”

“Dean, _ you _ don’t understand,” Cas insists, and Dean shuts his eyes, turning away. He was afraid of this. They can tell Cas the truth several times over, but for him to _ leave _like that means Bela must have him wrapped around her finger.

No, talking to Cas won’t do any good. Dean’s just going to have to _ deal _ with Bela and hope the kid forgives him.

“The jig is up, lady. _ He _ might be blinded by infatuation, but don’t think for a moment I don’t know what you did,” Dean tells her, staring right past Anna. “I know you started working him over the moment you got there, took advantage of his innocence and — yeah, I _ saw _ that thing in the nightstand drawer — ” Cas makes a strangled noise “ — and you can bet your skanky Lettran ass I am going to make you pay for _ all _of it.”

Bela looks confused.

“What . . . thing in the nightstand drawer?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Cas says stiffly. “Dean, you need to _ listen _—”

“Stop throwing a tantrum in my throne room and be quiet for five seconds,” Anna interrupts bluntly. “I know what you’re thinking, because I thought it, too, but Hess wanted Cas _ dead. _ And instead of poisoning his breakfast, Bela found them sanctuary until Eden reopened. You should be _ thanking _her.”

Dean stares at her.

“And you _ believe _that?”

Anna shrugs.

“It’s weird, isn’t it? That Hess would go through all that trouble when she could just as easily kill him?”

“If she killed him, there’d be no deal with Lawrence.”

“If it helps,” Bela interjects. “That poison makes it look like heart failure.”

“He’s _ twenty _!”

“He wouldn’t be the first strapping young knight to drop dead like that,” she points out, and _ fine, _but—

“While she was visiting? It would have been suspicious as hell!”

“Right — but that assumes your father wasn’t in on it. Or if he wasn’t, that he _ cared, _” Bela narrows her eyes. “With Eden in tatters . . . Castiel was useless to him. Hess was counting on him not to press the issue.”

“Well, she counted wrong. I’m not going to sit here and say Dad wouldn’t have Cas killed himself, if he thought it would serve him, but somebody else poisoning people in his own goddamn castle? Dad’s not stupid enough to deal with somebody like that if he doesn’t have to.” Dean shakes his head. “And as far as being _ in on it _ goes, if he was in on it, we’d have had an agreement with Lettra months ago. Wanna know why we don’t? Because he’s not a fucking idiot. He would have waited longer than _ that _ before he fucked over an alliance as important as the one with Eden.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Yeah, I _ do, _ just like I know that’s a weak-ass lie. Getting Cas to run away of his own free will is a _ way _better plan, and if anybody here actually believes this assassination bullshit, then you’re a fucking moron.”

Bela rolls her eyes.

“Really. You’re a _ prince, _and you don’t know.”

“Know _ what, _ you limey _ bitch _?”

“Hey—” Anna starts, but Bela waves her off.

“According to Lawrencian law, you’re welcome to divorce Castiel, but any children he has sired by you at _ any _ time after the divorce remain contenders for the throne. _ ” _

Dean stares at her.

“What?”

“It’s meant to protect vulnerable parties from abuse.”

“Right, but—” Dean swallows. “Okay. Okay, even if that’s — it still works just as well to have him gone.”

Bela smirks.

“Does it? Silly Hess — she’d gotten this mad idea that unless you had proof he’d died, you’d just come after him. Absurd, I know, but your fondness for the young prince is a popular topic among your people.”

Dean flushes.

“I — my—”

“Anyway, even if you did as your father commanded, she was hardly going to risk Castiel undermining her own daughter in _ any _way, even if it was just by pitting the entire castle against her.”

Dean huffs.

“Okay, fine; say I’m buying any of this crap. What was in it for _ you _?”

Bela makes a face.

“Always, with the same bloody question — is it not _ good _ enough for any of you that he’s _ alive _?”

Dean just glares at her.

She sighs.

“Fine. Due to an . . . unfortunate incident, I had formed a, ah. Biological attachment, shall we say, to Castiel’s sister. Said attachment . . . _ compelled _me in directions I would otherwise not go.”

“Are you _ kidding _me—” Anna starts, outraged, and Bela sniffs.

Defeated, Dean turns to Sam, who is looking awkwardly off the side.

“The hell is she saying?” he asks him, but it’s Cas who answers.

“Bela and my sister are mated,” he informs him, sounding bizarrely pleased about this fact, and Bela makes a funny choking sound.

“I assure you, we are _ not _m—”

“Bela didn’t want Anna to be upset, so she decided not to kill me,” he continues, then adds, “Though I don’t think she would have, anyway. _Now _do you understand?”

It’s not that Dean _ doesn’t, _ it’s just — what are the _ odds _?

“So you’re trying to tell me that by some _ crazy _ coincidence, Lettra chose _ Bela, _who was secretly mated to your sister somehow, and when Hess asked her to kill you, she ran off with you to protect you.”

“Yes.”

“You get how absurd that sounds, right?”

Cas frowns.

“It’s the truth.”

“After all,” Bela adds, snide, “It’s not like _ you _were there to do it.”

Dean whirls.

“You shut your mouth—”

“You know what? No. You didn’t think it was even a _ little _odd that you stopped receiving letters, and suddenly Hess and Toni were hying off across the Hellenian wilderness to make nice with John? Nothing about that made you think that perhaps you had things at home that needed seeing to?”

“How could I possibly have known—” he starts, defensive, and she scoffs.

“_ I _knew. The moment Hess started asking me about Castiel, I knew, and as soon as she announced she was visiting, I knew what she’d ask me next.”

“Yeah, well, maybe because I’m not Lettran, it didn’t occur to me how fucking _ crazy _you assholes could be.”

“This is not my fault,” she says coldly. “And while it isn’t really yours, either, I am rather tired of being threatened and berated when all I did was try to do right by those I — ah. Those I was . . . acquainted with.”

“_ Seriously _? If you ‘acquaint’ yourself with that simpering beta from court, I’m exiling you back to Hellenia,” Anna says tiredly, finally tucking her rapier back in its sheath. “Dean, whether you believe her or not, she’s under Eden’s protection. If you do anything to harm her, there will be consequences.”

Dean scowls.

“Fine,” he says shortly, and Anna softens.

“I’m not sure where Val is, but I imagine you and Sam would like to have some refreshments and rest.”

“I’ll handle it,” Cas says, stepping forward with a worried glance at Dean, and only then does Dean notice—

“Why the hell are you wearing a dress?”

Cas’s face falls.

“Is it — does it look bad? I — everyone was shocked by my pants, so I’ve been wearing robes, but—”

“No, no, no,” Dean says hastily, and Anna’s murderous look has absolutely nothing to do with it. “You look good. The, uh, the grey is nice.”

If anything, Cas’s expression sours even further. He looks away.

“It’s because I’m divorced,” he mutters. “I’m not allowed to wear colors anymore.”

This time, Dean is the one giving Anna an irritated look.

“Are you kidding me?”

Anna sighs.

“These are Eden’s rules. The country’s been through enough, Dean, I can’t just change everything overnight—”

“Well, he’s _ not _Edenish, not anymore! He’s m— Lawrence’s! He should get to wear whatever the hell he wants!”

“Except he’s _ not, _ Dean. John dissolved the marriage and banished him. So he’s Edenish again, and that means he wears assorted shades of grey. If you don’t like it . . .” She levels him with an even look. “Then _ do _something about it.”

Dean has no idea what that means, but Cas is giving them dour looks and threading his fingers through Dean’s.

“Come, Dean,” he says, and when Dean finally tears his slack-jawed gaze away from Anna, there’s a strange glint in Cas’s eye.

As soon as the next words are out of his mouth, Dean understands why.

“I really think you need a _ bath. _”


	14. Part XIV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: some discussion of the incident with April. Please let me know if I missed anything.

Baths are delayed by what feels like ten fucking years, because once Cas whispers instructions to a servant waiting outside the throne room and leads Sam and Dean down several different halls, Sam insists on having his own dumb, girly reunion with Cas outside the bath room.

Dean’s not really sure why he and Cas need to cling to each other for a solid five minutes, exchanging various apologies and heartfelt declarations of friendship and devotion, but fine, whatever makes them happy.

Cas excuses himself to take his own pre-dinner bath — “Omegas aren’t allowed to bathe with alphas, even when they’re _married. _Isn’t that _absurd_?” — and Dean and Sam are left to debate whether or not everyone actually follows that rule while they scrub off days of grime and God-knows-what from their travels.

Sam is way more optimistic about it than Dean, that’s for sure; the bathing room is _ incredibly _extravagant, steam pouring in through grates along the walls and scented bath salts leaving the water sweet and foamy. The tubs themselves are built-in, intricately tiled, and — most importantly — big enough for like, three people.

Yeah, no. People have sex in the bath, and Dean refuses to believe anything different.

Despite the luxuriant bathing experience, Dean hurries; he felt a little anxious about Cas going off again, even though logically he knows he’s still just somewhere in the castle. He just — he’d like to meet up with him sooner rather than later. It’s like it hasn’t really clicked in his brain that they’re together again, and there’s phantom worry from the last several weeks still gnawing at him.

Sam doesn’t say anything when Dean literally throws a towel at him before Sam’s even finished climbing out of the tub, although he does give Dean a surprised look when he fails to complain about having to put on the new Edenish clothes that have been left for them, even though the tunics have pads sewn into the shoulders.

Dean’s shoulders are fine on their own, thanks, but whatever. Just as long as nobody makes him wear a funny hat, he’s good.

Fortunately, Cas is waiting outside the door, and he scrambles to stand up, smile tentative as he greets them.

“Are you ready for dinner? We have to dine with the court, but Anna moved it up, since she thought you’d be hungry.”

“She didn’t have to do that,” Sam protests, although he keeps glancing up and down the hall for some reason.

“But we appreciate it,” Dean adds hastily, because he’s actually _ starving, _and he’s tired of jerky and stale bread. Cas just looks at him, smiling, and it’s then that Dean remembers he forgot to do something very important.

He reaches for Cas’s arm, tugging him forward, and Cas follows without hesitation. Dean simply puts a hand to the side of his neck, using his thumb to gently press behind Cas’s ear and nudge his head to the side.

Then he lowers his nose to the skin there, inhaling deeply.

‘It’s, uh. It’s good to see you again,” he murmurs, a little dazed by the intensity of such a familiar scent. It’s been so long since he _ has _seen Cas, and he’s unprepared for the way his chest seems to seize up at the first lungful. He knew he’d missed Cas, but scenting him like this just makes Dean want to carry him off somewhere quiet and curl up with him for however long it takes to make that sad, tense feeling underneath his own skin go away.

But he supposes that’s normal; he and Sam are both alphas, and while that mostly doesn’t make a difference, it does at times like these. Cas is somebody — somebody under their _ protection, _ part of their family, and they’ve been worrying about him for weeks — months, in Sam’s case. Dean doesn’t doubt they’ll both be instinctively . . . _ emotional, _around the kid for a little while.

Still — Cas’s scent, after so long apart, is ridiculously comforting, enough that it’s a little hard to tear himself away and bare his own throat so Cas can do his Edenish ritual thing back.

Cas shyly leans in when he does, and the brush of his nose along Dean’s neck is comforting, too. If Dean had it his way, they’d just go find Cas’s room and have dinner there. They wouldn’t even have to set up a table, he thinks. Dean could just prop all the pillows up, just so — because Cas must have a lot of pillows, here, right? Kid deserves as many soft, fluffy down pillows as he can get his hands on — and then bundle up all the blankets — and Dean’ll bet there’s a bunch of those, too, since Cas got used to sharing with Dean and he probably gets cold really easy, now — and sort of push them in a circle around the middle of the bed, and then they can just . . . sit and eat together.

With Sam, of course. Sam missed Cas, too; he’s gotta be thinking along the same lines as Dean.

Sam coughs, and then Cas is awkwardly shuffling back, eyes flickering to Sam and then away again before he turns toward him and tilts his head. For some reason, Sam hesitates, and Dean gives him an encouraging nod. Maybe they don’t do this in Lawrence, but Sam’ll feel way better after scenting Cas, like Dean did.

Sam only leans down for the barest of seconds before he pulls back, though. It makes Dean a little offended on Cas’s behalf for a moment, but then he remembers that Sam is clearly the more emotional of the two of them, and he’s had even more months to worry about Cas than Dean. Hell, Sam probably feels guilty about a lot of the shit that went down, too. It must be all he can do to keep his composure right now; if he lingered, he’d probably break down sobbing or something.

Anyway — Dean tries not to notice the way Cas doesn’t spend nearly as much time with his nose against _Sam’s _throat, but then again, he’s probably just being considerate. No doubt up close, he can _smell _Sam’s distress. Cas is sweet like that.

Fuck, Dean missed him.

“I missed you both — very much,” Cas says, like he can read Dean’s mind.

“So did we, Cas,” Sam says, and yeah, now he’s looking a little watery. Dean totally called it.

“Nobody else will listen to him talk,” Dean quips, bumping Sam’s shoulder and reaching for Cas’s hand. “Come on, let’s go to dinner, then.”

Cas doesn’t move, though, forcing Dean to stop and give him a questioning look. He’s just standing there, staring at their joined hands with a wistful sort of regret.

“We’re not allowed to hold hands,” he says sadly, and Dean frowns.

“What? But — well, why not?”

Cas reluctantly pulls his hand loose, wiggling gloved fingers.

“It’s ‘indecent,’” he parrots, clearly annoyed. “I’m not supposed to touch anyone’s skin. Even with my _ gloves. _”

“Dude, _ what _? That makes it sound like you have a disease or something.”

“Yes, well. In Eden, being an omega feels like one,” he grumbles. “Anna tries, but there are too many rules, and they’re all _ ridiculous. _”

Dean frowns.

“Yeah. Yeah, it sounds like.” He hesitates. “Well — we’ll just let go before we get there, okay?”

Cas brightens.

“Okay.”

“But take off your damn glove,” he adds, giving the charcoal kid a resentful look, and Cas quickly peels it off his right hand, reaching for Dean’s left.

Yeah. That’s better.

Behind them, Sam just sighs.

As much as Dean loves food, dinner can’t be over fast enough.

People are a little hostile at first — Dean’s not sure what or how much Anna’s told them — but after that, they’re just plain _ curious. _

There’s a lot of questions about how John intends to handle Lettra’s deceit and underhanded scheming, but worse are the questions about what _ Dean _intends to do.

“To make such a vile attempt on your omega’s life — to force poor Prince Castiel into misunderstood exile — as an alpha, how can your honor stand it?”

Yeah, Cas gets called Dean’s omega a _ lot _ during the meal, and the only thing weirder and more discomfiting than hearing _ that _ is the fact that Cas seems relatively unbothered, even though he was bitching about his omega status in Eden less than an hour before . Just once, Dean tries to point out that Cas _ isn’t _ his — even if he technically _ was, _ he’s not now, and he definitely wasn’t ever Dean’s _ omega — _and Cas gives him a look of such sullen reproach that Dean nearly bites his own damn tongue off.

On the other hand, that line of questioning is way better than the bedazzled dowager to his left, who keeps trying to whisper advice on how to win his omega back.

“Fortunately, he’s divorced, and not widowed, else you’d never have a chance at claiming him again—” which is absolutely true, but clearly not for the reasons she seems to think “—what with him being a Prince, and all. I daresay that fool Adler would set aside his new bride if he supposed himself to have hopes with dear Prince Castiel.”

Dean would definitely murder the guy in cold blood if he tried, but that seems both undiplomatic and rude for dinner conversation, so he restrains himself from saying so.

“In any case, he’s still young, and such a pretty thing, too. Omegas that pretty demand flattery, Prince Dean, which certainly can become exhausting, but gives one an advantage in courtship. Of course, you’ve already proven your prowess — the likes of Adler could never aspire to your battle achievements — and if all else fails, you’ve already been married,” she rambles, lowering her voice even further. “It is as naturally distasteful to an omega to have intimate relations with more than one alpha in their lifetime as it is for an alpha to claim an omega that has. After all, it’s why widows and widowers make the best matches; a good alpha will always pine for his first mate, but neither one can help their circumstances, and it’s rather easier to overcome instinct together, is it not? Oh, but I digress — be persistent, and flatter his vanity, and Prince Castiel is sure to follow his natural instinct to return to you.”

Dean doesn’t even know where to _ begin _ with any of that. He tries to catch Sam’s eye, plead for help — older women in Lawrence just _ love _Sam, and he’s hoping the trend holds true in Eden — but Sam is watching Valencia’s disturbingly creative approach to carving her steak with rapt attention, and he’s fucking useless to Dean.

“Now, it wouldn’t surprise me if the dear boy was a little lovelorn for that strapping beta woman who safeguarded him until he could be brought home,” she continues. “But a royal omega is far too precious, and while it was certainly a noble sacrifice on behalf of a helpless innocent, the fact remains that Miss Talbot is a beta, without a penny to her name, and even in gratitude, my King would never give her an omega prince. But now that you’re here, I’m sure any attachment will fade.”

Once again, he’s speechless, but it doesn’t really seem to matter to her.

Nope, the woman powers on throughout dinner, _ gaining _ enthusiasm, if anything, and by the time Anna concludes the meal, she’s started on ‘helping’ him strategize how to convince his father to negotiate for it in the new treaty negotiations.

“After all,” she sighs, “It falls to my King to decide, but you know, she’s terribly fond of her brother, and if you can convince him of his attachment to you, she’s bound to consider you favorably.”

“Thank you,” he manages, and she beams.

“Of course. Obviously, duty must take precedence over all, but if it can be managed, I confess to having a sentimental appreciation for a particularly harmonious union.”

What the ever-living fuck is this place?

The only thing that stops Dean from bolting the minute dinner’s over is his desire to walk with Cas, who is immediately waylaid by various members of the court. They fall silent as Dean approaches, subjecting him to unnervingly speculative looks, and then bid Cas a string of significantly spoken ‘good night’s.

Cas still looks confused when Dean offers his arm, half-assuming Eden shouldn’t have a problem with that and half not giving a fuck.

Cas accepts it, which means it must be fine.

“Everyone seemed very . . . odd, tonight.”

“You’re tellin’ me,” Dean mutters, steering him out of the dining room. “The lady next to me—”

“Prince Castiel!” someone calls, sounding a little frantic.

Cas makes a face, then turns.

“Yes, Rachel?”

“You’re not . . . surely you weren’t about to let Prince Dean escort you somewhere without a chaperone?”

Cas’s jaw twitches, and then he smiles the kind of smile that Dean would expect to receive right before the kid whacked him with the blunt end of his sword.

“Of course not,” he says stiffly. “We were waiting for, uh. For Valencia.”

Rachel makes a face, like she doesn’t really think this is a solution, but then Valencia’s gliding forward, Sam trailing awkwardly after her.

“No worries, Rachel,” she says pleasantly. “I’ll make sure they don’t do anything lewd and inappropriate. Or at least, nothing they haven’t done before.”

Rachel blinks.

“But—”

“Good night, Rachel!”

Valencia gives them both a push — a _ hard _push — and they stumble into the hallway.

“I swear to God,” she muses, once they’re out of earshot. “She’s the kind of person who catches you doing something dirty in the library, and when she reports you, she _ describes _what you were doing to every. Last. Detail.”

“That, um, that’s just an example, right?” Sam interjects. “Or did she . . .”

Valencia slows, studying him for a moment, and then smiles.

“I wrote you, you know. As soon as the borders reopened.”

Sam looks startled, then smiles back.

“I, um. I look forward to reading it.”

“I could summarize. If you wanted.” She rolls her eyes. “Then Dean can escort Cas wherever the hell they want.”

“Wow,” Sam says, lifting his brows. “Being here must be killing you.”

She sighs.

“You have no idea. They tried to make me wear the _ hat, _Sam,” she adds, eyes haunted. “At least once a week, they bring me one to ‘just try on.’ I’m running out of excuses and I can only feign head lice so many times in one month.”

“Wait, how does head lice prevent you from wearing a hat?”

“Honestly? Head lice just gets people to quickly back out of the room. They prepare your bath weird later, but it’s fine.”

“Oh. Okay.”

Valencia rolls her eyes.

“Very convincing, Sam.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Then why did I _ hear _it?”

“You can’t possibly—”

“Oh, but I _ do _—”

“You’re both gross,” Dean interrupts, mostly appalled and maybe a tiny bit warmed by the exchange. “Cas and I are going to bed.”

“Okay. Good night.” Valencia glances at Cas. “If he gets handsy, just say you have head lice.”

Cas looks alarmed.

“No. I don’t want the lice bath. It smells funny.”

“But it’s fizzy. That’s pretty fun.”

“It’s _ too _fizzy,” Cas protests. “It makes my skin feel weird.”

“You think _ that _makes your skin feel weird? Clearly, you’ve never had lice.”

“When did y—”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” she says firmly, and Dean makes a face.

“Okay, yeah, good night. Cas, where to?”

Cas hesitates.

“Well . . . your room is next to Sam’s,”

Dean blinks.

“My room? But—” Dean stops, realizing that he doesn’t actually have a good reason for assuming he’d be sleeping with Cas, especially now that he knows how goddamn weird Eden is about that sort of thing. (Though even in Lawrence, Dean’s pretty sure these would be considered extenuating circumstances). Dean’s . . . not crazy about the idea of saying good night and going to bed alone, if only because he’s gotten used to sharing a tent with Sam these last weeks, but even if he has to — “But I wanna see your room.”

Cas tilts his head.

“My room?”

“Yeah. You know, where you’ve been staying. Make sure it’s . . .” he trails off, and everyone just kind of looks at him. He shrugs, uncomfortable. “Anyway, come on, man. We haven’t seen each other in like, over a year, now. Don’t you wanna catch up?”

Cas quickly nods.

“Yes, of course, I just—“ He looks at Val, unsure. “It should be fine, if no one sees?”

She shrugs.

“I’d do it.”

“Alright.” Cas nods again. “Then . . . it’s upstairs. We’ll see you in the morning, Sam, Valencia. Good night.”

Sam gives him a warm smile.

“’Night, Cas. Sleep well.”

“You, too, Sam.”

“’Night, guys.”

Dean gives them both a distracted wave and follows Cas down the corridor towards some stairs.

Cas is quiet as they walk over, although the way he keeps glancing around them suggests he’s preoccupied with making sure they’re not caught. Dean feels a little bad, but not enough to suggest he just go back to his own room and stop by tomorrow.

He wasn’t kidding, anyway; once he got the thought in his head that he wanted to see where Cas has been staying, where he’s been sleeping, if it looks like he’s probably been comfortable there or if it doesn’t look _ good enough — _the need to know feels strangely urgent.

Cas unlocks his chamber door, pushing it open and motioning Dean forward.

“Here it is,” he says, and quietly closes the door behind him.

It’s a spacious room, about as big as Dean’s back in Lawrence, except considerably less cozy (in his opinion). There’s a pair of double doors, presumably leading to a balcony, which is cool; Cas likes being outside, likes being high up, too, and he probably enjoys the easy access to both. There’s a half-empty bookcase taking up one of the shorter walls, a lounge in front of the fireplace, and a table and chairs in a little alcove beneath a window.

The bed is enormous; Dean can’t decide if that’s good or bad. On the one hand, Cas should have plenty of space — he’s not used to sleeping in his barracks bed anymore — but on the other, what if it’s _ too _much space? Dean’s slept alone in a too-big bed before, and without adequate pillows and bedding, it feels like an endless, unusually-padded desert.

Anyway, Dean counts a mere five pillows and one reasonably plush-looking duvet with a throw neatly folded at the end. It’s not how Dean would have set it up, but he supposes it’s . . . fine.

“It’s nice, Cas,” he says, finally turning back to him. “How’re you liking it?”

Cas shrugs.

“It’s fine. I like your room better. And there’s a small wash room through that door, but I always have to go to the bathing rooms if I want to bathe, and it’s inconvenient.” Cas looks down. “I miss bathing with you, or my barrack-mates. Some of the other omegas, uh. They don’t like to talk to me, since I’m divorced. Lady Eleanor says it makes me ‘unlucky.’”

“_Seriously _?” God, Dean can’t wait to take Cas back to Lawrence. This place is a fucking shitshow. “But — none of what happened was your fault!”

Cas shrugs.

“To be fair, most people here _ have _ acknowledged that. Apart from the . . . rules, they’ve been very welcoming.” He looks thoughtful. “I was worried, that the divides would cause problems for Anna, but she seems to be well-supported. Most people were just — desperate for a return to order. Anyway . . . since _ she _ welcomed me back, so have they. Although many of them are angry at Lawrence.”

Dean sighs.

“Yeah. Yeah, we still gotta figure that out. Anna’ll be hearing from my Dad soon, if they’re not in talks already. ‘Course, he might be waiting to see what Sam and I turn up.” Dean snorts. “God, you should have heard the lady sitting next to me at dinner. Spent the whole time trying to give me advice on how to get you to marry me again.”

Cas gives him a startled look.

“That’s bizarre.”

“I know, right?”

He nods.

“It’s a given that I’d marry you again. Really, the difficulty lies with your father; I — I hope you don’t mind,” Cas says, averting his eyes and rubbing the back of his neck. “I asked Anna to do what she could, with regards to, um, to that part of the treaty. And she said she’d try, but Eden would have to be her first priority, which — which is fair, and of course, if you don’t _ want _ to marry me again, that’s — I suppose things are — but if you, um, if you wouldn’t _ mind, _then — then perhaps you could talk to your father, as well.”

Cas doesn’t look at him once while he says all this, and it takes Dean a long moment to respond. He stumbled somewhere around ‘it’s a given that I’d marry you again’ and hasn’t quite recovered his footing.

“Uh. That’s — uh. Yeah, I mean, I — we definitely, uh. We have some shit to, uh, take care of. And stuff.”

Cas glances at him briefly, faintly dismayed, before he shrugs.

“Ah. I suppose we’ll see, then,” he mumbles, and Dean winces.

“I mean — I mean, it’s — obviously, like you said, it’s not really up to us? But, uh. I definitely — I mean, I — the whole time I was looking for you, the plan was always to bring you home. Back to Lawrence with us, I mean,” he clarifies, because while Cas is asking questions Dean hasn’t really thought about, at least not in those terms, he does know _ this _much, and that was always what Cas was worried about in the first place.

“Oh,” Cas says, and Dean would be offended at how surprised he sounds, except the relief in his voice just makes Dean relieved, too. Twenty-four hours ago, he had no idea if Cas would even want to see him, let alone want to come _ back _ with him, and he’s tentatively interpreting that as a _ yes. _

“Yeah, ‘oh.’ You — if you really wanted to stay with Anna, you know I’d never tell you what to do—” Cas’s face twitches, but Dean figures it’s just a muscle spasm “—but yeah. If it were up to me — and Sam, obviously — then of course you’d come back with us. It’s — things wouldn’t be the same without you. They’d be kind of — you know. Shitty. Or whatever.”

Cas nods slowly, watching Dean with a vaguely awed expression.

“I’m not in love with Bela,” he announces abruptly, and Dean recoils a little, startled. “Just — in case that wasn’t clear. She’s a, um. A dear friend, but I mostly went with her for the sake of my survival.”

“Okay,” Dean says. Like, yeah, he was pretty sure that was the case — definitely keeping his fingers crossed — but it’s always good to have it confirmed.

“And she doesn’t know about the thing in the nightstand,” he continues, a little red-faced. “That’s, um. I bought that at the market when Sam wasn’t looking.”

Dean nearly swallows his tongue.

“You — _ you _bought that?”

“Well, yes,” Cas huffs, glancing uncomfortably to the side. “You wouldn’t let me help you with your rut because you shared my doubts about my body’s capability, but — it’s, um, it’s actually very impressive, Dean, what it will f—”

“No,” Dean blurts out, not sure what, specifically, he’s objecting to, but definitely wanting Cas to stop talking.

Cas apparently doesn’t get that.

“Did you — um, when you looked at it, did you happen to — that is, would you say your penis is a similar size, or—”

“No,” Dean repeats, horrified, and Cas falters.

“Oh. Is it — much bigger? I — I tried with the provided heat aid, first, but I admit, I specifically chose to buy that one because it _ was _ bigger and I wanted to be sure I could accommodate your—”

“Please stop talking,” Dean says hastily, and it’s only when his back hits the door that he realize he’s been moving in that direction.

Cas looks upset.

“Just because it’s not the same doesn’t mean it won’t fit, Dean. My body is _ extremely _ adaptable _ . _ ” He straightens suddenly, blinking. “Unless — is it much _ smaller _? Because that’s certainly not a problem — it, uh, to be honest, even just preparing with my fingers was — Dean? Dean, where are you g—”

Dean has the door open and slammed shut behind him in about four seconds flat, and he wastes no time fleeing down the hallway.

Maybe he’s fine sleeping on his own tonight, after all.

Cas’s feelings are . . . a little _ hurt, _if he’s being honest.

And _ perhaps _ he’s being unfair — Dean _ came to get him, _ when Cas could barely muster hope that Anna would be able to manage negotiations enough for Cas to _ visit _ — but if anything, that should have made it better. Dean came all this way — and Cas doesn’t deceive himself that the journey was painless, even for Sam and Dean — and positive news like this ought to have made him feel _ good. _

Rewarded, even.

Not that Cas necessarily thought about it, specifically, when he found Dean waiting in Anna’s throne room and Dean indicated that he was there for _ Cas, _ like it should be obvious. But then Dean had to go and bring up the heat aid Cas left in the nightstand, which reminded Cas of why he bought it in the first place, and he spent his entire bath wonde — _ worrying, _ that is, about if Dean had had his rut on time, given his erratic travel, and if not, then would he be facing it on his own in a strange land, in which case Cas would be more than happy to help him, if only because Dean did such a — such a _ wonderful _ thing for him, spending weeks searching and coming all the way to Eden. Every time Cas looks at Dean, now that he’s here, and thinks about how he’s here _ because of Cas, _ Cas feels positively _ overwhelmed _ by intense . . . gratitude _ . _

Why that — _ gratitude — _makes Cas keenly interested in conducting a trial run prior to Dean’s actual rut and preferably at the earliest available opportunity — tonight, if possible, though Dean is tired, and despite the strange sense of urgency Cas feels, he supposes everything will work better in the morning when they’re both well-rested — well, Cas couldn’t say.

But _no _— Dean literally _ran away. _Which — he’s a _knight. _He’s Lawrence’s _greatest _knight! Cas has never heard of him running from _anything, _and yet apparently the thought of receiving Cas’s assistance can send him fleeing the room, even though _he _was the one who wanted to see said room in the first place!

Cas squints at the door, increasingly disgruntled. Maybe — maybe he misunderstood? Dean drank a _ lot _ of water at dinner, and Cas knows firsthand how difficult it can be to stay hydrated while traveling. Of course, once you’re _ dehydrated, _ trying to fix it takes time, during which water tends to go right through. Thus, it is entirely possible Dean abruptly realized he had urgent need of the lavatory, and it had nothing to do with Cas’s proposal at all_. _

In which case, he’ll be back. And when he does come back, perhaps Cas can present the idea in a more — a more _appealing _fashion. Cas did stumble through it a little the first time; Dean would hardly feel confident in proceeding if Cas himself seemed uncertain. Come to think of it, Cas isn’t sure if an ill fit is uncomfortable for both parties or not. Maybe that’s why Dean was so alarmed? Cas can certainly relate to that fear, and actually, if he has the potential to _hurt _Dean by asking for this —

He deflates. He hadn’t realized he was being so insensitive.

But — but if they don’t _ try, _ how are they supposed to _ know _ ? Dean at least needs to give him an accurate estimate of his dimensions, so Cas can experiment on his own. If that _ is _ a risk, then how did Dean figure it out with his other partners? And either way, those other partners are miles and miles away, and Cas is really Dean’s only option, and Cas can’t imagine Dean could be _ that _ much larger than his purchased heat aid, so — so obviously, they’re just going to have to make it _ work _.

And since that is so _ clearly _ the case, it’s much better to resolve it _ now _than wait until Dean is already unsettled by rut.

How can Dean not see that?

Cas crosses his arms, leaning back against the bed and giving the door a hard, suspicious stare. He supposes he’ll just have to let Dean know when he returns from the bathroom, won’t he?

Honestly — sometimes Dean can be so _ obtuse. _

“Sam, help, Cas keeps trying to — oh. Uh. Hey, Val. Am I . . . interrupting something?”

Sam’s brow pinches together.

“We’re literally standing fifteen feet apart, Dean.”

“Yeah, but — uh. You know. That could be about to change, and I mean, I don’t wanna . . .”

Valencia grins at him.

“Wow. It’s good to see you again, Dean.”

Dean shrugs, uncomfortable.

“Yeah, you too. I just — uh, if you’re not, uh, you know, then maybe I could, uh, talk to Sammy. ‘Bout a thing.”

She settles deeper into her chair.

“Sure. I can hear things.”

Dean hesitates.

“It’s a, uh, a Cas-thing.”

She raises her brows.

“Okay. I know about Cas-es.”

They both look at him, expectant — though Sammy’s face is edging toward wariness — and suddenly, Dean’s cheeks heat.

“Uh. Well, he — he — I mean, it’s not the, uh, the _ first _ time he’s — because he gets these fucking weird ideas, right? And I — damn it, I have _ no _ _ idea _what the hell to do! You know?!”

Valencia smiles blandly.

“Not at all.”

He huffs.

“Cas — the kid thinks he needs to — to — _ you know _!”

“I still don’t, but go on, I’m sure you’ll get there.”

“Valencia,” Sam says, and Dean would appreciate the stern note to his voice, except the fucking traitor’s lips are twitching.

“Right, sorry, Dean. What does Cas think he needs to do?”

Dean rubs his face, despairing.

“He — he thinks he has to — that I wanna — stuff! Do stuff to him! Or something!”

There’s a long silence, and Dean finally lifts his head, hoping he doesn’t actually have to voice something so — so -

So fucking _ weird. _

“So . . . Cas thinks you want to . . .” Sam starts, then trails off. Valencia clears her throat.

“Sexy times?” she finishes, helpfully, and Sam and Dean both wince.

“Yeah, yeah — uh. That. He thinks — and I don’t — where the hell did he even get the idea that we needed to — _ that_?”

Valencia looks thoughtful.

“Maybe he doesn’t think you _ need _to,” she suggests, and Dean stares at her, nonplussed.

“The hell does that mean? Actually — you know what? Doesn’t matter. I just — how do I — he needs to know that that’s not — and I tried to tell him, but it’s _ Cas, _guys, he’s a determined little fucker—” Dean winces, then barrels on “—and it’s like he doesn’t hear me!”

“Right, but are you sure you’re hearing him?”

And jesus, Dean doesn’t have the patience for her riddles right now.

“Sam, fix it.”

Sam flinches, brows shooting up as his mouth opens.

“I—what do you expect _ me _to do?”

“I don’t know!” Dean gestures uselessly, impatient. “Talk to him! You guys talk, right? He asks you shit? Well, talk to him and tell him this is a non-starter!”

“Or _ you _ could tell him that you don’t want to have sex with him?” Val interjects, and Dean swivels, frowning at her.

“I’ve tr—”

“In a clear, straightforward way?”

“I _ mean _ it. I told him I didn’t want that from him, and he randomly decided it was because he wasn’t — _ experienced _ enough!” Dean’s not getting hysterical, he’s _ not. _“And — and — and what the hell were you doing, taking him to the market and not keeping an eye on him?”

Sam blinks.

“What?”

“_The thing in the nightstand _!” Dean hisses, but Sam just looks more confused.

“About that — I’m not actually sure—”

“He bought a _ heat aid_! And then he — just now, he asked — Sammy, he asked me how it compared to my _ dick_!”

“Oh.”

Everyone awkwardly avoids looking at Dean for a moment.

And then Valencia opens her mouth.

“How _ does _ i—” she starts, curious, and Sam hastens forward.

“_Anyway _ — I didn’t know about that — _ obviously — _but, um, it’s — I mean, it’s his business if he, um. If he wants those things. I mean, that’s — not exactly what I was thinking, when I started taking him out, but — you know, if — if Cas wants to buy things, he’s an adult, so . . . he should be able to buy them.”

Dean grits his teeth.

“’Cept he’s not an adult. And now I feel like a total asshole because I made him think — Sam, he told me he didn’t even do that for himself during his _heats_! At this age! Which clearly means he either doesn’t wanna — _do _that kinda thing, or it means he’s not ready, and somehow I — I forced him into it! Because he thinks he owes me rut help! I — I — I -” Dean flails anxiously. “I’m a fucking _asshole, _Sammy! I’ve — indirectly _molested _him!”

They both stare at him.

“What? Dean, that doesn’t even make—”

“No! No, it _ does, _ because if I’d been doing my job, he coulda gone on in blissful ignorance, and — and — look, he’s _ different _than other kids his age, okay? This kinda thing — it ain’t even on his radar — probably never will be! — but because of his stupid shithead brother and who the fuck knows what else, he thinks he owes me that. And I need to explain to him, once and for all, that even if we have to lie back and think of Lawrence someday, that’s not something he ever has to do otherwise, with anybody!”

Sam and Valencia exchange frowny looks, and jesus christ, Dean should have just gone to bed. Sam’s fucking useless right now.

“Wow,” Valencia says finally, and she sounds considerably less amused. “It’s almost like you think he’s going to stay a kid forever.”

Dean blinks.

“Well — well — I mean — isn’t he? I mean, maybe not a _ kid, _ but — but you know he’s different. This is just how he _ is. _That — that’s not gonna change.”

“Dean,” Sam says slowly. “When you say ‘that’s just how he is’ — what do you _ mean_? And why do you think that?”

Dean groans.

“The — the sex stuff! He doesn’t get it. It’s all just — academics to him, you know? I mean, he’s _ twenty, _ but he’s never been interested in — in _ stuff. _Which is fine, lot o’ people are like that, but what’s not fine is him feeling all this pressure to let me take advantage! Especially when I don’t even want to!”

Sam purses his lips, and if Dean didn’t know any better, he’d say his brother looked _ disappointed _in him.

“Right. And you’ve talked about this?”

“Yes! Swear to God, I feel like he’s been _ harrassing _ me about it—”

“Dean,” Sam interrupts, sounding tired. “That’s not what I mean. I’m asking if you’ve talked to him about — well, about his sexual identity, I guess?”

Dean stares.

“Are you _ insane_?” he finally sputters. “He’s a kid , why the fuck would I ask about his _ sexual identity _?”

Sam sighs.

“You get that you’re kind of contradicting yourself in places, right?”

“What? No, I’m not!”

“You kind of are,” Valencia says, mild, and Dean scowls.

“Shut up, I didn’t even come here to talk to you.”

“You probably should have. No offense, Sam.”

“Um, yeah, none taken.”

“Are you assholes on my side or not?”

Sam makes a face.

“Oh, so we’re taking _ sides _now?”

“Yes! I mean — I mean, _ no, _ but — clearly — anyways, he’s not listening to me, so you need to help him get it through his head that _ we are not having sex. _”

“Right. You’re asking your little brother to tell your husband you don’t want to have sex. And you’re calling _ Cas _a child?

“Are you gonna do it or not, Sammy?”

“Um, no? If Cas is such a little kid, set a damn example, Dean! Use your words, and explain to him _why _you don’t want to have sex with him, and tell him that it makes you _uncomfortable _when he asks you about it, and that when it comes to sex, it’s really important to respect other people’s comfort zones. I think you can agree that Cas is at least mature enough to understand _that._”

Dean scowls. This isn’t going _ at all _how he wanted; if it were, Dean would be heading back to his room, comfortably certain that he’d never, ever have to talk about sex with Cas again.

“And Dean?” Sam continues, before Dean can even begin to formulate a response. “If _ Cas _ wants to use his words and tell you something, too? You better _ listen. _”

Dean’s not sure what the hell that means, but it’s abundantly clear he’s getting no help from this quarter.

“Fine,” he mutters, and goes to find his own goddamn room.

Dean is just drifting off when he hears the door open, candlelight from the hall spilling in before it quietly shuts.

“Who the fuck—” he starts, but then something clean and fresh and a touch sweet drifts toward him, and he just barely suppresses a groan.

“Cas. You should have already gone to sleep.”

There’s a pause, and then Dean feels the bed dip.

“I was waiting for you to come back.” Cas sounds upset. “Why didn’t you come back?”

“_Seriously_?”

“Yes, Dean, I’m very serious. _ Obviously._”

“Cas, you were talking about — about — stuff!”

There’s a long silence.

“Is this — am I not supposed to?” he asks, sounding weirdly uncertain. “Was I supposed to just — do it? I was under the impression that it’s better to discuss—”

“Yes, of course it’s better to talk about it,” Dean says hurriedly, pointedly not thinking about how traumatized he’d be if Cas had gone straight ahead and jumped him. “But that’s when there’s — when it might actually happen!”

The silence is even _ longer _this time.

“That makes it sound like it won’t.”

“Exactly!” Dean says, relieved.

Cas doesn’t share the sentiment, apparently.

“Why not? Do you — Dean, I would never hurt you. If you’d just _ tell _me what to expect, then I can make sure ahead of time that it will work, and you won’t have to worry.”

It takes Dean a moment to realize Cas is still asking for measurements, and he buries his face in the pillow, groaning.

“Cas, that’s not it. And — and I’m sorry that you, uh. That you felt like you had to do that.”

“It’s fine,” Cas says quickly. “I understand now, why you didn’t want to risk just trying. If it will be painful for you—”

“What? No! That’s not what I was worried about!”

“Then what _ were _ you worried about?” Cas demands, and he has the nerve to sound _ annoyed__. _

“Cas, come on. I thought — didn’t I already explain all this to you? If I didn’t, then I’m sorry, but I’ll do it now. Bottom line? If you’re a halfway-decent person, you don’t wanna have sex with someone who doesn’t _ actually _ want to have sex with you. And I’m never gonna ask for that. Okay? Do you understand?”

No response comes, and for a brief moment, Dean wonders if Cas fell asleep and Dean is somehow going to have to talk about this again in the morning.

But then the mattress lifts, and Dean can just make Cas out, standing by the bed.

‘Yes, I — I think I understand,” he says quietly. “I’m . . . sorry. Good night, Dean. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Uh. Okay . . . cool. ‘Night, Cas.”

Without another word, Cas shuffles out and shuts the door behind him.

And even though Dean knows he should feel relieved, because that went way better than he thought it would —

He kind of feels like shit.

Cas, though he never really gave it much thought before, _ does _consider himself a ‘halfway-decent person.’

Still, it’s a struggle to keep that in mind when he wakes up with a morning situation so demanding it borders on _painful, _sheets damp and twisted around him.

“Oh, _ no,_” he moans, horrified. He had his heat _ three months ago_. Why on earth is this _ happening_?

A scandalized beta maid walks in on him attempting to deal with this sudden, upsetting development when she comes to inquire after his absence at breakfast; Cas is too agitated and uncomfortable to be that embarrassed when she shrieks and flees, and twenty minutes later a wispy blonde omega enters the room, arms full of towels.

Fortunately, Cas has finished managing the situation for the time being — though he still ‘feels like shit,’ as Dean (and sometimes Sam) would say — and the woman doesn’t seem half as offended.

“Hello, Prince Castiel,” she greets him, setting down the towels and dropping into a deep curtsy. “My name is Hester. I’m a cycle attendant for omegas, and it’s an honor to aid you during this unfortunate time.”

Cas blinks. Aid?

He gives her a wary look. Hester is . . . a pleasant-enough-seeming person, he supposes, but they’ve only just met, and after what Dean said to him last night, he doubts Hester is any more interested in assisting him than he is in having her do so.

And of course, Cas knows that cycles are different — or at least, he thought he did — but still. He was . . . he was rather looking forward to sharing Dean’s. Or — or even having Dean share his.

The prospect of having a stranger’s help isn’t nearly as appealing, if it is at all. It doesn’t make him feel as bad as he does when he thinks about the incident with April, random and unbidden, but it’s still not great.

“Oh, dear,” she murmurs. “It looks like you already need new sheets. But fear not, my prince — I’ve sent for a cool bath, and I’ll prepare the new bedding with fresh towels while you relax.”

“Oh.” Cas cheers a little. Hester could surprise him, but he thinks perhaps he misunderstood what she meant by ‘aid.’ “Uh. Thank you.”

“Of course. It’s never fun — but what a blessing, to be an omega.”

Cas wouldn’t have had an opinion one way or the other six months ago, but since staying in Hellenia and now being in _ Eden _?

Hester is — as _ Charlie _would say - ‘a dirty liar.’

“How so?” he can’t help but ask, and she looks startled.

“We quicken so easily,” she says, like she can’t believe he’s asking.

“Quicken?” he echoes. Come to think of it, Cas is the fastest runner among his barrack-mates. He’s honestly not well-versed enough in biology to suppose _ why _omegas would be faster, given the wide variety of shapes and sizes they come in, but Charlie and Jo are rather fast, too, so it makes sense.

Hm. Cas isn’t technically supposed to run in public, but maybe the omegas in Eden have private races? Maybe Hester will race him?

Cas smiles a little, opening his mouth to ask her, but she answers his first question instead.

“_Children_, your highness,” she whispers, embarrassed, and it takes Cas a moment to understand.

“Oh.” He . . . _ supposes _that’s useful, too. Like with any other task, it’s probably nice if it takes less time than it could.

Abruptly, Hester pales.

“Oh — oh, but — but of course, if you’ve been afflicted with _ difficulties, _ that’s — you’re otherwise so fair, such a flaw would be _ easily _overlooked,” she says, earnest, and Cas doesn’t even bother trying not to frown.

“Difficulties?” Why on _ earth _do the Edenish speak this way?

Hester lowers her eyes, ashamed.

“I beg your pardon, your highness. I was insensitive. Of course, after six years, if you were not blessed, I — it must be a very painful topic.”

Once again, Cas needs a moment to put together her cryptic words, and when he does, he feels a stab of annoyance.

“No efforts toward . . . _blessings _were made,” he tells her, as politely as he can manage. He’s been busy training to become a _knight, _for heaven’s sake; Dean’s _six years_ older and neither he or most of his peers have expressed an interest in offspring, either. What are they even _doing _in Eden? “But thank you.”

She looks confused.

“Oh.” There’s a long silence, during which Hester clearly feels some burden to make sense of his response. “Oh, but of course. There were so many wars — no doubt Prince Dean wanted to be there to cherish that time with his omega.”

Cas just gives her a resigned nod (and privately considers that _ no _time with his omega is cherished for Dean) and she brightens a little.

“Apologies for losing focus, your highness. Your bath should arrive any minute, and I’ll prepare the bed.” Hester lowers her eyes, a small smile on her lips. “I say this not out of pride, your highness, but you may be reassured to know it’s been said that I prepare a nest nearly as well as an alpha.”

Cas tries not to ask, even as Hester takes stock of the bedding, a distant, calculating look on her face, but eventually he caves.

“A nest?” he prompts.

“Hm?” She glances back to him, straightening. “Yes, I prepare an excellent nest.”

He suppresses a sigh.

“What is a . . . nest?” He knows birds make them, and if he wracks his brain, maybe Ellen used the word ‘nesting’ in that long-ago talk, but he remembers nothing about it and if Hester thinks he’ll stand by while she lines his sheets with twigs and fluff of mysterious origin, then Cas will have to break his promise to his sister about keeping his combat abilities a secret.

Honestly. The Edenish just want omegas to _ suffer, _don’t they?

“Oh. Is that not what it’s called in Lawrence? When your alpha prepares your bed to meet your heightened comfort needs during your heat, or other times of stress? We can become so fragile, it’s important to have an alpha who cares for us properly.”

Cas swallows.

He knows his first objection ought to be omega frailty — he’s passed over half a dozen heats without aid of any kind, so this is a blatant logical error — but instead he’s thinking of all the times he _ did _pass his heat without aid of any kind, and Dean’s never shown any inclination or desire to build Cas a nest.

Despite not knowing about such things thirty seconds ago, Cas wants Dean to build him a nest so badly in that moment he feels _ sick _with it.

“I see,” he mumbles, curling up, and Hester perks up, alarmed.

“So soon? Isn’t it the first day?”

“My heats are inconsistent and unpredictable,” he says bitterly. “But no, I’m not having trouble right now. I just — I feel queasy.”

“You poor thing,” Hester breathes. “I’ve known a few omegas who struggle, but do not be anxious! We will get you through. I play three different wind instruments, all renowned for their ability to soothe,” she adds proudly. “Most Edenish alphas only play _ one. _”

Cas has a vague, muddy memory of preparing to take some kind of — flute? — lessons, and being offended at the distraction to his training.

But now that Hester mentions it, that seems nice.

If only Cas’s alpha wasn’t being an _ assbutt. _

He feels guilty as soon as he thinks it — _ any halfway-decent person _ and all that — but hearing about nests and soothing wind instruments on top of the maddening effects of heat has him feeling unreasonably _ resentful. _ Even if Dean is so vehemently opposed to intercourse with Cas, it sounds like these other things fall in the jurisdiction of reasonable alpha _ duties, _ and he could at least come in here and — and _ hum _at Cas or something.

That, and bring him another blanket.

Cas’s bath arrives, and he stews the entire time he sits in it, sweaty and shivering and feeling sicker by the minute.

“Is this normal?”

“Some of us do experience nausea,” Hester says. “Do you usually?”

He shakes his head.

She hesitates.

“Well. I’m sure it’s . . . an _ adjustment _for your body.” She sniffs. “It will have been used to sharing its cycle.”

It will _ never _be used to sharing its cycle, he thinks bitterly, but when he opens his mouth to tell her so, he throws up instead.

Predictably, Hester is _ dismayed. _

A month early isn’t bad, but violent arousal in an unfamiliar bedroom in a strange country with no one he can ask for help is _ horrible. _

And stupid goddamn rut hormones mean that since he _ feels _ like he had a fight with Cas last night even though he’s almost positive he _ didn’t, _ he lies in bed clutching his pillow and feeling pitiful and anxious while he worries about it anyway.

It’s fucking bullshit, is what it is, and even if a small, sane part of him suggests he should be grateful it didn’t happen even three days ago, most of him just says ‘fuck off’ (but really loud and angry).

The thing is, if his stupid-ass rut hadn’t blindsided him this morning, Dean could have gone and found Cas first thing. It took him ages to fall asleep night, unsettled by how Cas went off and a little resentful that after _ finally _finding him and seeing him again, they’d hardly spoken two words and Dean had a whole night ahead of him before he could work on that.

And Dean’s not naive, anymore; every time he leaves and comes back, shit gets weird with Cas, and he was more than prepared for that this time — especially given all the unknowns.

But _ no, _ instead of getting a head-start on sorting the weirdness so they can just go back to the way things have always been, Dean is plastered to his sheets getting a severe wrist cramp and finding out his spank bank material is all old enough the memories are getting kind of _ fuzzy _.

And as much as it would be super fucking awkward to have the kid perched on a chair at his bedside while Dean suffers through all this, the fact that Cas _ isn’t _here to work their shit out is too much on top of everything else. It’s making him upset and fidgety and he really, really wishes he had some of Ellen’s tea so his body would calm the fuck down and his brain would stop asking him ‘why isn’t Cas here’ every five fucking seconds.

In fact, the more he thinks about it, the more he decides this is actually Cas’s _ fault. _ This is a _ stress _ rut, the kind Dean’s heard about but never had, and right now he would give his left arm for one of the travel-confusion-ruts instead. But no; Dean’s spent weeks searching for his — his friend, his charge, what-the-hell-ever — and Cas had to misunderstand things in typical Cas fashion and get weird on Dean (again, in typical Cas fashion) and now Dean feels like he maybe did something wrong and also it’s his rut and it’s _ bad _ and he’s upset and so he’d really like some fucking reassurance right now, _ okay_?

As soon as there’s a lull and he’s had a bath and changed the sheets, he’s opening a damn window and getting Cas in here for a quick are-we-cool talk so he can finish out his rut without worrying about it (and feeling like he might be about to burst into tears).

Of course, when he manages the first two things and he asks Sam to go get Cas, Sam awkwardly informs him that Cas is busy dealing with his heat.

“Wait, you went to see him?”

Sam just gives him a look.

“I _ tried. _ There’s a _ guard _posted at the end of the hall and they practically chased me off because the Prince is ‘indisposed.’”

Something cold slides down Dean’s spine.

“Indisposed? Indisposed _ how_? Sam, what the hell, he could be _ sick _-”

From her perch by the fireplace, Valencia throws a sock at him.

“Did you — did you just take this off your _ foot_?”

“Where else would I get it?”

“Dude, don’t throw _ socks _at me.” Dean sniffs, and Sam sighs.

“Look, Dean’s really sensitive when he’s in rut—”

“I am _ not _—”

“Really, I couldn’t t—”

“And he’s obviously anxious about Cas,” Sam concludes, giving them both dirty looks. “Anyway, Cas is fine. I, um, I could tell it was his heat because of how the hall smelled.”

Dean scowls.

“Real familiar with that, are y—”

Another sock hits his face.

“_Stop that_!”

“You stop it. Anyway, _I _went to see him, because the King likes me, although I’m pretty sure everyone thinks I’m her mistress, but anyway — Cas wants to know if you happened to bring the thing from the nightstand,” she says meaningfully, and Dean reddens so fast he can feel the blood rush into his cheeks.

“_What _ ? Dude, up until yesterday, I thought _ Bela _ had gotten that so she could — so they could — anyways, _ no_! Why the hell would I?”

Honestly, Dean feels sick every time he thinks of Cas doing that kind of thing just because he somehow thought Dean had told him to. He fully intends to throw it in the goddamn fire when he gets back, and then the poor kid can hopefully move on and forget it ever happened.

Sam looks awkwardly at the floor and Valencia shrugs.

“Fair enough. He’s gonna be disappointed.”

Dean groans.

“_Still_? I _ told _him, I didn’t want—”

He cuts off when she starts laughing.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” he demands, glancing at Sam, who just looks uncomfortable.

“Really? Cas is in heat and he’s asking for his toy and you _ still _think this has anything to do with you?”

Dean blinks.

“Well — well, _ yeah, _ I mean — he told me he didn’t use ‘em before, and — and that he only bought it to make sure it’d be possible for us to — to — to — _ you know._”

She just rolls her eyes.

“I’m going for a snack, Sam. Good luck.”

And then she walks out.

“Holy shit. You’d think _ she _was in cycle, god.”

His brother has the nerve to _ frown _at him.

“Dean, she’s not wrong. You’re being kind of . . .”

“Kind of _ what _?”

Sam sighs.

“Just — it’s like you’ve got these _ ideas _ about Cas, and you won’t let go of them, even when evidence to the contrary is right in your face. I mean, he’s _ twenty years old, _Dean.”

Dean just lifts his brows, impatient.

“Okay? I don’t follow.”

His brother sighs again, rubbing his face.

“Forget it. It’s — some other time. Anyway, we’ll let you know when he’s good to visit you.”

Dean scowls. That could be _ days, _and if Dean wasn’t suffering enough, it looks like Sam and Valencia are going to be playing mind-games with him for the foreseeable future.

“Maybe I could go see him.”

“Seriously? What part of ‘guard chasing me away’ didn’t you get?”

“Dude, he’s my _ husband. _If I wanna s—”

“Except he’s _ not _,” Sam interrupts, shaking his head, and Dean shuts his mouth.

Yeah, he’s — he’s not sure how he forgot about that.

“God, what a fucking mess,” he mumbles. “Fine. Just — have your dumb girlfriend tell him I — uh. I look forward to talking to him, I guess.”

He just barely refrains from adding, ‘and tell her to make sure he’s not mad at me.’

Sam nods.

“Okay. I’ll do that. Feel better, man.”

“Thanks.”

Sam leaves, and Dean flops back in his bed, that shitty tired-restless feeling crowding in on him again.

He can tell already; it’s going to be a _ long _rut.

Despite Cas’s unusual illness — which has Hester plying him with a foul-tasting tea she _ claims _got her through six months of morning sickness but Cas is almost certain must have caused the last five of it, at least — the usual heat symptoms persist, and they’re far worse than they have been.

Which — Ellen’s always told him his body’s generally going to do what it’s going to do, but this is different.

This is different, because Cas can’t _ do _anything about it.

Valencia briefly drops back in to shake her head at him, presumably in response to his hopeful query from earlier (though realistically, if _ Cas _forgot to pack his heat aid he can’t imagine Dean would have seen fit to do so), but as disappointing as that is, he could manage. He managed without one for years, and it was fine. And, as he attempted to explain to Dean, the preparation process will make a fine substitute in a pinch.

He _ could _ manage, except he can’t, because _ Hester. _

Cas has had a nearly painful erection on-and-off for about three hours before he finally interrupts Hester’s story about the beautiful hand-carved flute her alpha plays for her — one which has been passed down in his family for ten generations, evidently — and suggests she might like to take lunch, or a walk.

She cheerfully declines — “I couldn’t possibly abandon you, not when it looks like your cycle is just settling in.” — and then continues the story, and after another hour of such anecdotes, Cas is seriously rethinking his position on not managing the situation while she’s still in the room.

“Hester,” he finally says. “I — I’m so sorry, but — I’m — _ very _uncomfortable, and it would be nice if you could . . .” he trails off, lifting his brows at her, and she straightens, nodding.

“Oh, of course, your highness, you should have told me sooner.”

And then she pulls out her _ flute. _

“This is a favorite among all the omegas I help,” she tells him with an encouraging smile. “We’ll have you calmed down in no time.”

She launches into the soft, swooping melody, and while yes, it’s very pretty, Cas is — he’s _ confused. _ And _ frustrated. _

He doesn’t _ want _flute music, he wants her to leave.

He grits his teeth through a full forty-five minutes of songs before she checks the towels in his nest — which is rather comfortable, to be fair — and orders him another cold bath.

The bath helps, but within twenty minutes of getting back into bed and determinedly refusing Hester’s offer of an embroidery hoop to help distract him, the situation is back.

“Hester,” he finally says, wet and desperate and starting to have vividly unkind thoughts about pitching her out the window. “Is there — could someone please bring me a — a heat aid, of some kind?”

And Cas _ would _ sincerely like a heat aid, but at this point, he’s mostly trying to make it clear to her that he needs to _ go. _

She looks confused.

“I’m right here, my prince.”

He makes a face.

“No — I mean — the kind that, um. They’re supposed to simulate . . .” he trails off, trying to figure out how to explain without using the word ‘penis,’ because at this point, Cas isn’t entirely sure Hester will _ know _that word, and even if she does, she’ll be upset if he uses it. “If you don’t have a partner, then you use the aid instead of their . . . um. Their — appendage?”

He gives her a hopeful look, and is dismayed to find her face going very red.

“I — I — such a thing — _ no _ !” she finally exclaims. “You — it’s — I’m sure I can’t imagine what it’s like to be divorced, but — but that isn’t — how can you even think of doing such a thing? That’s — it’s _ unnatural, _attempting to do that without an alpha and — and it can only be harmful to you, in the long run. Now — now why don’t I play you a lullaby, and you can try to take a nap!”

Avoiding his gaze, Hester snatches up her flute and launches into a somewhat aggressive rendition of a song Anna used to sing to him when he was a child.

Defeated, Cas just lies back and listens.

The door opens late that evening, and Dean just stops himself from cursing, because who the fuck doesn’t _ knock _ when a guy’s in rut? Forty-five seconds later and they would’ve caught Dean with his hand down his goddamn pants, and you know what? They would have _ deserved _it.

As it is, he awkwardly brings his knees up, lifting his head.

“Sam? That you? Or . . . creepy bath-replacer guy?”

There’s a soft snort.

“That’s one word for him,” Cas says, and Dean sucks in a breath.

“Uh. Hey, I don’t — you shouldn’t be in here.”

“Which is why I’m here,” Cas grumbles, and then he starts toward the bed, face exhausted in the flickering candlelight, and Dean sits up in alarm.

“Woah. Woah, no, no, no, what are you doing?”

“Hiding from Hester.”

“Who the fuck is Hester? Seriously, don’t—”

It’s only then that he realizes where Cas is looking, gaze lingering curiously somewhere in the vicinity of Dean’s lap, and suddenly he really wishes he hadn’t pushed off the comforter.

He hurriedly yanks it over himself, face hot.

“Dude, you’re supposed to fucking _ knock. _”

Cas blinks, and finally he looks back up at Dean’s face.

“I didn’t want anyone to hear me come in.”

“Which you shouldn’t have done, by the way. Go back to your own damn room.”

Cas sighs, shoulders slumping.

“Why? You don’t have company. I don’t know why we can’t suffer together,” he grumbles, and Dean swallows. Does Cas just mean _ suffer _ together or does he mean suffer _ together _?

Either way, just — no.

“Because we really, really can’t. Go away.”

“I don’t have anywhere else to _ go,_” Cas protests. “I could try Bela’s, but that’s probably the first place Hester will look.”

Dean frowns.

“Why the hell is this Hester person so bent on finding you?” _ And why the hell would she look in Bela’s room? _he nearly adds.

Cas gives him an exasperated look.

“If I tell you, can I stay?”

“What? No! I thought we talked about this last night—”

Cas huffs.

“I’m not trying to get you to assist me with my heat, if that’s what you’re worried about,” he grits out. “I just — I’m just — I’m tired and I haven’t felt well all day and I can’t sleep and Hester is a — a _ menace, _ Dean. You’re alone in here, which means they didn’t send someone for you, so you couldn’t possibly understand, but — but _ please, _just let me stay in here.”

Dean hesitates. Cas looks kind of awful, and he sounds terrible, too, and the combined effect is making Dean want to do whatever he can to fix it.

But — it’s just not a good idea, not when they’re both—

“Cas. C’mon, man, you — you saw, I’m kind of — and even if you’re not, right now, you could be at any time, and — and you’ve gotta see how that’s weird, right?”

“Honestly, Dean, I don’t,” he mutters. “And actually I _ am_, right now, but I’ve resigned myself to _ ignoring _ it, and if you’re _ that _concerned—”

Cas marches over, heedless of Dean’s alarmed squawk, and lifts the blanket.

“Woah — hey, _ dude _—” Dean starts, but Cas just shoves a pillow at Dean’s crotch and then climbs in after it.

“Just — pretend it’s not there, Dean,” he says tiredly, like _ Dean _is being ridiculous, and then he — then he —

“Um,” Dean says, but Cas ignores him, busy making himself comfortable pushed right up against Dean and Dean’s crotch pillow and _ fuck _his life.

“Do you — oh.” Cas sniffs, nosing at Dean’s neck a little, and makes a soft little noise Dean’s going to just pretend didn’t happen. Nope, he’s just going to lie there, whole body tensed, until he wakes up from this bizarre fucking nightmare.

There’s a long silence.

“Dean. Are you — are you breathing?”

“No,” Dean mumbles, and Cas sighs, reluctantly unburying his face out of Dean’s neck.

“I can’t smell _ that _bad.”

Dean’s very carefully not smelling Cas, mostly because completely-fucking-inappropriate rut hormones are enthusiastically clamoring for a whiff of the warm body tucked up against him, and he shakes his head.

“’M sure you don’t,” he manages, and damn it, Sam was always better at holding his breath than Dean. He should’ve gone swimming more.

Cas huffs.

“Why — I don’t understand why you’re like this.”

“You’ll get it when you’re older,” Dean says in a rush, then turns his face into his own pillow and takes a deep breath.

Traces of something else, something like the moment you bite into a freshly-picked apple, creep in at the edges, and Dean’s stomach tightens.

Fuck his life. Fuck his stupid rut schedule. Fuck Cas for not understanding goddamn personal _ boundaries. _

“Why are you here, Cas?” he mumbles into his pillowcase, pitifully grateful Cas had the sense to stick that other pillow between them.

Cas sighs, snuggling back in.

“Do you know what a, uh, a ‘cycle attendant’ is?”

“Uh? No?”

“That’s what Hester is. Supposedly, she stays with omegas and helps them with their heats.”

Dean jerks back so fast his neck hurts, and Cas lets out a disgruntled huff at the motion.

“She _ what_?” Holy shit, of course Cas is hiding in here. No doubt he wants to throw down with some random stranger even less than he wants to sleep with Dean, and he can’t believe Anna didn’t put a stop to this. “They just — they just _ assigned _you someone to — shit, you didn’t do anything you didn’t want to, right? You’re okay?”

Cas gives him one of those confused frowns, and then wriggles after him to make himself comfortable again.

“I’m fine. Mostly. Anyway, Hester is _ supposedly _there to do the things my alpha normally would—” Dean stiffens again, alarmed.

“What things?” he chokes out.

Cas shrugs against him, sighing.

“You’re supposed to — to make me a nest,” he says quietly. “And play me the flute. Things like that.”

And okay, Dean doesn’t know about the whole flute business, but yeah, nesting is definitely a thing an alpha does for their omega, but Cas is talking like _ Dean _should be doing it, and they’re not—

“Uh, Cas, I’m not — I’m not your alpha.”

Cas doesn’t move or speak for a moment, and then he inhales slowly.

“Aren’t you?”

“No? I mean — even if we were still married, you’re just — you’d just be my husband. The — the other stuff, that’s — that’s for mates.”

“I don’t understand. Michael gave me to you. And everyone — everyone _here_ kept referring to me as your omega, which — which makes you mine. My alpha.”

Dean swallows hard, speechless for a moment.

“Uh. That’s — okay, so — so yeah, when we got married you . . . you were part of the deal. But you were mine, like — like my _ husband. _Like, because of the terms, yeah, I technically got to — I don’t know, decide shit about you, but that’s different than the other stuff, Cas. We don’t — we’re not mates. I’m never gonna bite you or make you nests or stuff like that.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. But — I mean, that’s good. We — we’re best friends, which is — I mean, that’s kinda better, isn’t it? It, uh. It makes things . . . less weird. Right?”

After a moment, Cas shrugs again.

“Right.”

Cas is starting to smell kind of sour, and while it’s doing wonders for the awkward situation behind the pillow, it’s making Dean antsy.

“Right, so, uh. Tell me more about this cycle attendant thing. That’s it? She fucks around with your bedding and plays the flute?”

“I _wish _that was all,” Cas mutters darkly. “No, Hester _says _she’s there to comfort me through my time of frailty, but that’s a _lie. _At this point I’m convinced her whole purpose is to stop me from _masturbating.”_

Dean pulls a face. It’s — even if he knows that cycles are a special thing and Cas probably does that during his, hearing the kid use that word is just plain weird.

“Uh. That, uh. That seems drastic.”

Cas grunts.

“That’s what I thought. I couldn’t understand why she wouldn’t _ leave, _and while I might not be well-acquainted with Edenish customs, I’m fairly certain it’s rude to masturbate while someone else is in the room.”

Dean snorts.

“You think?”

“But she seemed _ nice, _ and I didn’t want to offend her, so I pointedly asked her for a heat aid, and then I had to explain what it _ was, _and do you know what she told me?”

Dean’s still trying to process Cas’s persistent demands for a heat aid, and he’s just starting to wonder if Valencia was maybe right about him being stupid when Cas continues.

“She told me that’s _ unnatural. _ That — that having orgasms without an alpha will be _ harmful _ to me.” Cas makes an irritated noise. “Well, Dean, I’ve had _ plenty _ of orgasms without an alpha, and while I admit to wishing someone _ else _ would deal with it when I was in heat, they generally make me feel a lot _ better. _”

“Uh,” Dean starts, but nothing follows, because his brain feels vaguely like it’s melting.

“Which is another thing!” Cas bites out, burying his face in Dean’s chest with a deep breath. “I — I — I’m _ tired. _ I’m tired, and this is my second heat in three months, except this one is _ awful, _ and my stupid penis has been erect _ all day, _practically, and I just — I just want —”

Cas’s voice, muffled though it is, is beginning to sound alarmingly thick, and when he pauses to let out a sniff, Dean’s lungs seize.

“I — Dean, I want to go _ home _ ,” he finishes, and he smells so sad it’s like a violent kick to Dean’s brain, urging him to do something, anything, to fix whatever’s making it happen. “I love my sister, and — and everyone is trying to be nice, but Eden is just — it’s _ strange _, and I’m confused all the time, and it was lonely in Hellenia and it’s lonely here and until yesterday I didn’t even know if I’d see you and Sam again and — you said you came to take me home.”

Cas lifts his head, then, imploring Dean with wet, miserable eyes.

“I — even if you don’t want to marry me again or your father says no, I just — _ please _ take me home, Dean. I just want to go home.”

And jesus, even if that wasn’t the plan, how could Dean possibly refuse when Cas asks like _ that _?

“Yeah,” he manages, bringing his hand up to Cas’s cheek — which is _ damp, _ and shit_, _ what is he supposed to _ do _? “Yeah, I’m gonna — definitely. We’re gonna go home. I — I might have to figure things out with my Dad first, but I’ll take you home, Cas, I promise.”

Cas nods, turning into Dean’s hand with a deep breath.

“Okay. Thank you, Dean.” Dean feels him swallow. “Thank you — thank you for coming to find me.”

“Yeah. Yeah, of course, Cas, I’d never — of course I’d come find you.”

Cas just nods, closing his eyes, and Dean listens to him breathe for a minute or two, the pattern punctuated by the occasional sniffle.

“May I stay in here tonight?” Cas mumbles, and though he still sounds tired, his scent’s evening out, which is good. “If I’m not going to masturbate, anyway, I’d still rather do it where Hester isn’t watching.”

Dean chokes out a laugh, startled.

“Uh — yeah, o-okay. Sure, why the hell not?”

There’s a pause, and then Cas opens his eyes, resting his head on the pillow and looking down.

“Oh. Unless you — I guess — they don’t have rut attendants, do they?” Cas’s scent sours again. “Of course they don’t. You’re an _ alpha, _ you’re probably allowed to masturbate whenever you _ want._”

Dean has _ no _idea what to say to that, but Cas sighs, continuing.

“I suppose it wouldn’t be fair for you to suffer just because I have to,” he says grudgingly, fingers toying with the side-seam of Dean’s sleep shirt. “I’ll understand if you want me to leave.”

And as surreal and uncomfortable as — _ all of this — _is, Cas is insane if he thinks he can come in here and cry and beg to go home and still have Dean kick him out, as if getting off is more important than Cas’s goddamn feelings.

“Hey, no, it’s — you’re fine. You can stay.” Cas relaxes substantially at that, and Dean hesitantly puts an arm around him. “I’ll, uh. I’ll see if I can figure something out, okay?”

“Okay,” Cas agrees, though he looks doubtful — which is fair, because even Dean isn’t sure what he means by that.

Still, he gives him a reassuring squeeze.

And then he does it again, impressed by the lack of give.

“Hey, what’s this? If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’d been keeping up with your training.”

Cas snorts.

“Of course I was. Bela was relying on me, and — I had hoped I could still come back. I didn’t want to waste time.”

“Huh. How’d you manage that?” Dean asks, lightly feeling out the muscle in Cas’s back and arm. He’s leaner than Dean remembers, but that’s not necessarily a bad thing. Could be losing baby fat.

That, or it’s a lack of access to honeycakes.

“I . . . um. I trained with the H-hellenian army,” Cas explains, breath hitching a little as Dean’s palm slides across his lats. Cas seems kind of tense, which is no wonder, given what he’s been through the last six months. Maybe Dean can track down some kind of lavender oil or something and give him a massage. Kid likes those.

“Yeah? Huh. Probably good experience.”

“I thought so,” Cas says quietly, shifting a little, and Dean pats his back one last time before he returns his hand to Cas’s arm, rubbing (hopefully) soothing circles with his thumb.

“That’ll give you an edge over the rest of your rank when you get back,” he points out, smiling a little. “Not that you needed one.”

There’s a burst of something bright and sweet in Cas’s scent, and Dean smiles wider.

“Uh. Well. Actually, Dean, I, uh, I fought off several groups of bandits while we were traveling.”

“Did you now?”

“Yes. Uh. Four groups.”

“Yeah?” Dean’s eyes fall to a short, jagged pink scar peeking out just below Cas’s hairline. He noticed it at dinner last night, and even if it didn’t look kind of fresh, Dean’s sure it wasn’t there when he left Lawrence.

He reaches up, resting his thumb on Cas’s cheek while he traces it with his finger.

“That where you got this?”

Cas’s shoulders draw in a little at that, and he angles his face further into the pillow, dislodging Dean’s hand.

“Oh. No, that — I, uh. I — there was a, um, an altercation. In Hellenia. It’s fine, though. Anna’s doctor said the scar shouldn’t be too noticeable.”

Dean frowns.

“An altercation? What did this, anyway? Somebody not keep the practice sword smooth or what?”

“It’s a — it was a pot. She broke a pot over my head.”

“The hell? _ Why _?”

“I — there — it was a misunderstanding, I think, and — and anyway. Everything’s fine, Dean.”

Neither the words or the anxious, unhappy scent Cas is giving off are reassuring Dean in the slightest.

“Cas,” he says quietly, and Cas sighs, scrunching his nose.

“April wanted — she befriended me, and I misunderstood her interest, and when she, um, when she pushed the issue, we — we fought.”

Cas complains about the convoluted Edenish use of language, but he clearly must have picked up some of it, because it takes Dean forever to wade through that.

“Are you — are you saying she tried to — Cas, did this April chick _ attack _you?”

Cas shrugs.

“Yes. Obviously, I — I handled it. And then Crowley killed her. So — it’s fine.”

“It’s not _ fine, _ ” Dean insists, belated terror washing through him. “You could have — she could have seriously hurt you! It sounds like she _ did_!”

“Thank you for your confidence in my abilities,” Cas says dryly. “But no, she could _ not _have. Hellenia doesn’t respect omegas very much, apparently, and had April ever bothered to spar with me, she would have known she was outmatched and the entire thing could have been avoided.”

“Cas, that — that is so not the point.”

“What _ is _the point? I don’t see how this is relevant.”

“Of course it’s relevant!”

“In what _ way _? I don’t — I don’t want to talk about. I don’t even like to think about it. Apart from Bela, April was my only friend — the only one who would eat with me and talk to me and — and it was — it was very upsetting, to have her behave that way.”

“Jesus, of _ course _it was!” Dean exclaims. He tries to sit up, but Cas just grips his shirt and keeps him down.

“Stop it. I — I understand that you feel protective over your friends, but the event is past and if I don’t dwell on it, neither should you.”

Dean gives him an unhappy look, because Cas — Cas doesn’t understand.

The only reason Cas was in Hellenia in the first place was because Dean was too busy sulking to fucking pay attention. Hess never should have had a shot at him to begin with, and Cas should have lived in blissful ignorance forever.

“Sorry,” he manages, shutting his eyes. “I’m sorry that — that all of that happened. I should’ve been there.”

“Dean, I’m capable of protecting myself. My injuries were minor and they’ve already healed and—”

“Cas, that’s not what this is about. Yeah, you’re a badass, good for you, but — the worst part about this shit isn’t somebody breaking a pot over your head, okay? The worst part is finding out that somebody’ll kill you for something as stupid as political gain. That someone lied about being your friend because they wanted to take advantage of you. It’s knowing that — that people can be so _ shitty, _ and feeling like you can’t trust them. That — you shouldn’t have had to find that out. Not like this. And if I had insisted on following Hess and Toni here, Bela could’ve just told _ me, _and I could have taken care of it, and you could have stayed where you were safe and you knew you didn’t have to worry about people fucking you over.”

When he opens his eyes, Cas is watching him sadly.

“Dean — that’s not how the world is. Not even in Lawrence, though we’re fortunate enough to be able to pretend.” He reaches for Dean’s hand, twining their fingers. “I — the castle is a very special place. And I want to go back, more than anything — but I would have learned this eventually. I — I admit, I didn’t give it much thought, but I’m not naive, Dean. People are people. Valencia’s parents did a horrible thing to her, and your father made you marry someone you didn’t choose, and he sent you away to punish you. My brother gave me away for his own personal gain. It’s true that I, um, I’ve learned a lot, since I left. But these things were always there. And more of them will happen. And that isn’t something you can or — or even _ should _protect me from.”

Dean presses his lips together.

“We’ll agree to disagree, then,” he mumbles, still feeling like utter shit, because Cas is wrong. Dean should protect him, should _ always _protect him, from anything that could make him unhappy.

Cas just sighs, and then he tugs Dean toward him, wrapping his arms around him, at which point Dean just gives in and hides his face in Cas’s neck like a complete child. This isn’t about him, and he knows that the last thing he should be doing is accepting comfort from Cas, but he feels useless and scared on Cas’s behalf and if Cas is somehow managing to be more of an adult about this than Dean, then so be it. There’s gotta be a first time for everything.

“Can I do anything? To make you feel better?” Dean eventually asks, and it’s a totally selfish request, but whatever. Cas’ll understand.

Cas is quiet for a moment.

“Unless you packed my heat aid after all—”

Dean recoils, sputtering.

“_Dude _—”

Cas just sighs.

“Then no. Just — don’t tell Hester where I am.”

Dean snorts.

“Obviously. If they’d sicced a ‘cycle attendant’ on me, I’d have thrown ‘em out the damn window, by now.”

Cas looks relieved.

“Ah. Good. I felt bad for thinking that.”

“Don’t. If we were in Lawrence, Ellen’d come chase her out of your room herself. That shit isn’t cool.”

Cas smiles a little, but then it fades.

“I — Dean, are you sure you’re going to be okay? Technically, I, um, I’m doing the same thing to you.” He frowns. “I’d rather you not feel compelled to defenestrate me.”

Dean hesitates. Wanting to _ defen__e__strate _ Cas isn’t what he’s worried about. Like, he’s pretty sure it won’t be a problem — their . . . whatever it is has gotta overshadow any dumbass biology shit — but still. Things — things can get weird, like that time before, when Cas first tried to help him.

“I won’t. You’re good, Cas.” He clears his throat. “You seem really tired, though — why don’t you try sleeping for a bit, and then I’ll see if Sam can get us some dinner, okay?”

“Okay. Thank you, Dean.”

“’Course. Any time, Cas.”

Sam does agree to get them dinner, but not before he lectures Dean on absconding with Cas without any regard for Edenish custom.

“This weird blonde lady was having a meltdown!” he chides him, and Dean scowls.

“Yeah, well, she can go fuck herself. Except not, ‘cause if Cas isn’t allowed to, neither is she.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

Dean huffs, glancing back to where Cas is sleeping and lowering his voice.

“You know they have these things called ‘cycle attendants’? And yeah, they bring you extra pillows and shit and apparently play you the flute, but they also won’t _ leave. _Because they don’t believe in self-love for omegas.”

It takes Sam a minute.

“Wait — he’s in cycle and they won’t even let him—”

“No! She didn’t even know what a heat aid is!” Dean scowls. “It’s — it’s fucked up.”

Sam nods, eyes bright with sympathy.

“Yeah. That’s — I mean, I knew they were more — _ reserved, _ and they had a lot of rules and stuff, but — that’s insane. How can you expect someone to do a cycle and not — I mean, even if he _ weren’t _in cycle, he should be allowed to—”

“Right? That’s what I thought! These fuckers. I can’t wait to take him home.” Dean sighs. “God, all the things he’s been through — I wish there was something I could do.”

Sam hesitates, studying him.

“What . . . what do you mean?”

“I don’t know. Open a portal back to Lawrence?”

“Oh.”

“’Cept I don’t even know what to do about Dad. Our best bet is Anna smoothing things over, patching things up enough that Lawrence’s interests take precedence over him being pissed at me. I’m not risking taking Cas back there until the kill order’s off the table.”

Sam sighs.

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s — God. Things just — they’re really messed up, aren’t they?”

“Yep.” Dean frowns at the floor, considering. “Hey — do you think — when you bring back food, can you bring Valencia? I, uh. I wanna ask her some stuff.”

Sam lifts his brows, but nods.

“Yeah, sure. Just — don’t be rude, okay?”

“I won’t if she won’t.”

“Yeah, no, you were being an ass earlier.”

“She started it!”

“She didn’t, but anyway. I’ll be back in a bit.”

True to his word, Sam returns forty minutes later, Valencia in tow. Cas is still out cold, and although Dean’s starting to get kinda hot under the collar, he determinedly ignores it.

“What’s up, Dean?” she asks, peering past him curiously. “Ah, that’s where he went. Hester’s super upset, you know. Anna told her not to worry about it, since I told Anna where he probably went, but I’m pretty sure Hester thinks some terrifying alpha predator made off with him.”

“No, she _ drove him away _with her stupid rules and shitty flute music.”

“By all accounts, she’s actually very talented,” Valencia points out, and Dean just gives her a look. She smiles. “What did you want?”

“Uh. Well, actually, I — I was wondering, uh. Is there — he said Hester didn’t know what he was talking about, but — I mean, Edenish or not, they’re still _ people. _Is there a way to get him a — a heat aid?”

She lifts her brows.

“Wow. I hope your neck’s okay.”

“What?”

“Just, pulling it out of your ass that fast couldn’t have been ea—”

“Val,” Sam coughs, although his expression is suspiciously neutral.

“Fine. Since he’s being decent. Yeah, I know where to get one.”

Dean nods, too relieved to be annoyed with her.

“Awesome. Can you get one for him?”

“Sure. It might be a few hours, but I can do that.”

“Okay. And, uh. Is there any chance you’ve got like — a closet, or a sofa or something where Sam can sleep?”

“I do have a sofa, but I don’t know if he can sleep there,” she says, eyeing Sam dubiously, and Dean rolls his eyes.

“Just — I don’t want anybody harassing him if he goes back to his room, but it’s, uh. I feel like — you know. Both of us staying in my room doesn’t — I don’t think — I mean, you know? So I thought — if Sam can go somewhere else, I can take his room, and I’ll just be next door, if — if Cas needs me or anything. But he, uh, he can still have some privacy and — and shit. You know?”

Valencia nods, solemn.

“Yes, I think I know,” she says, strangely gentle. “No worries, Dean. I’ll go procure the thingy, and be back as soon as I can.”

She pats his shoulder before she leaves, and Dean slumps against the door jamb, feeling exhausted even though he’s been in bed all day.

“What’d you bring us to eat?”

“Soup and sandwiches. And some kind of weird smelling tea they give to people in cycle.”

“Ugh, yeah, I already had some of that. Clearly, a beta came up with the recipe,” he adds, bitter.

“Probably. Alphas and omegas aren’t allowed to be doctors here. Omegas because — well — and alphas since they can’t treat omega patients. Although they are allowed to do most forms of medical research.”

“God,” Dean mutters, resting his forehead against the wall. “We’ve gotta get him out of this place.”

Sam sighs.

‘Yeah. No kidding. For now, though—”

“Yeah, yeah. One step at a time.” Dean straightens, hesitating. “You wanna come in and eat with us? He’d probably like a chance to talk to you.”

Although, that’ll mean they have to eat at the table, when Dean was kind of looking forward to dragging the tray back to bed, where it’s soft and warm and cozy.

Sam glances down, shaking his head slightly.

“Ah — no, that’s — that’s okay. I — maybe I’ll come see him tomorrow, or something.”

“Yeah. Yeah, that — that’ll probably be better,” Dean agrees, and Sam smiles slightly, patting the same shoulder Valencia just did.

“Yeah. Take care of yourselves. I’ll grab some stuff out of my room and then it’s all yours.”

Dean nods.

“Thanks, Sammy.”

“Sure. Later.”

Stepping back into the room is kind of — it’s a _ lot, _ because Dean can smell his gross rut stink but he can also smell Cas’s considerably more pleasant heat scent, and his brain is _ super _confused about all of it, but he just leans in toward the food as he carries it to the bed and sets it down.

“Hey, buddy,” he says softly, rubbing Cas’s back. He’s got most of his face buried in a pillow — _ Dean’s _pillow, the ass — and he hides the rest of it when Dean gives him a small shake. “C’mon. Dinner.”

“Tired,” Cas mumbles, and Dean opts to pinch his side next, causing Cas to instinctively squirm away, curling up.

“Yeah, you can go back to bed after you eat something. And good news, they sent tea.”

Cas groans.

“No. I won’t drink it. It’s disgusting.”

“Yeah, I probably won’t either. But you do need to drink some water.”

Cas sighs, then grudgingly starts to sit up, rubbing his eyes.

“Fine.”

Dean momentarily abandons plate preparation in favor of rearranging the pillows behind Cas and retrieving the throw from the foot of the bed to put around his shoulders, Cas giving him a grateful look when he does so.

Cas smells . . . interesting, to say the least, and Dean hurries back to his own side when he’s done, trying not to think about it.

The castle’s kitchen makes a pretty decent sandwich, Dean admits, but by the time he’s halfway through his bowl of soup, all the annoying rut symptoms he’d managed to shove aside the last few hours are returning with a vengeance, and judging by the way Cas keeps shifting around beside him, cheeks getting all flushed and shiny, Dean’s not the only one.

“You, uh. You gonna try napping again?” he asks awkwardly, when they’re done, and Cas shrugs, not quite looking at him.

“I, um. I don’t think I can, right now.”

“Ah. Sorry.” Dean coughs. “If only I had a, uh, a flute.”

“It’s not funny, Dean,” Cas mutters. “_Every _time I indicated it was getting bad, she pulled out the flute.”

Dean tries not to giggle.

“Like the opposite of a snake charmer.”

Cas just squints at him, and he sighs.

“Never mind.”

They sit in awkward silence for about ten minutes, every small movement obnoxiously loud in the absence of conversation.

“So, uh. What’d you do in Hellenia? Besides . . . train.”

Cas shrugs.

“Um. Not a lot. It was . . . boring. I sparred with the others, and I read a lot.”

“Yeah? Read anything good?”

“A few things. Crowley had a . . . very different collection.”

“Okay. Different how?”

Cas clears his throat.

“I, uh. They seemed . . . that is, Hellenian literature is very, um. Descriptive.”

Dean blinks, not following.

“Oh. Like — kinda flowery? Like Lettra?”

“Ah — no. No, I mean, there’s a lot more — explicit detail. Especially when it comes to, uh. Sexual things.”

Dean’s cheeks heat.

“Oh. Oh, like, uh, like the stuff Donna keeps in the other room.”

Cas turns toward him, frowning.

“What other room?”

“Uh. You know. The big wooden doors behind her desk? There’s like, a whole other library in there. With all the really violent stuff, and the sexy stuff, or anything valuable.”

“Why didn’t anyone tell me?” Cas demands, and Dean shrugs, scratching his head.

“Uh. Probably thought you wouldn’t be interested.”

Cas sighs.

“I admit, a lot of the material was . . . surprising. Although — there _ was _ a rather nice fantasy series about the angels of myth, from the mountain people.”

Huh. That sounds pretty innocuous.

“Yeah? Tell me about that.”

“Oh. Uh. Well, one of the best and bravest of the village warriors saved the town from demons, so when an angel fell and landed in the woods, they gave them to her.”

“Okay? Sounds pretty fucking shady, but okay. Go on.”

“Anyway, the warrior had been cursed by a witch because she insisted on attending her coming-of-age test to become a proper warrior instead of going to save the witch’s coven from demons. So the witch cursed her with a, um, ‘an insatiable thirst.’”

Dean blinks.

“So what, chick was always dehydrated?”

“Not . . . not that kind of thirst.”

“Oh. _ Oh. _ You mean a _ vampire. _Ew, did she drink angel blood? ‘Cause I’m pretty sure that’s gotta be a no-no.”

Cas rubs his neck.

“Not a vampire, exactly, she just — she needed, um, sexual gratification. Frequently.”

Dean is silent for a long moment.

“Dude, you’re not supposed to bone _ angels,_” he sputters, and Cas shrugs uncomfortably.

“Technically, they were fallen. And . . . the angel didn’t mind. Really, Dean, it was actually very efficient, because the angel had retained enough grace that they were able to soothe the effects off the curse considerably better than others had been able to,” he points out, but Dean just shakes his head, adamant.

“Nope. I mean, yeah, trust Hellenia to churn out that kind of smut, but I’ve been to the villages in the mountains and I promise you, if an angel _ did _fall and you defiled it, you’d get your ass thrown down a well.”

“It — Dean, it wasn’t _ defiling _—”

“It was an _ angel _ !” Dean argues. “It’s _ always _defiling!”

“Half of it was written from the angel’s perspective,” Cas grumbles. “And they were very happy to be defiled.”

“Which just makes it _ worse. _”

Cas shoots him a scathing look.

“_ Really _ ? You think that’s worse than if they _ weren’t_?”

“What? I mean — okay, fine, no, but — but come on, man. That’s just — that stops being kinky and just starts being _ wrong. _ Angels are — they’re like, sacred, and pure. Anything associated with them is considered _ precious. _ Nobody would — would do _ that _with them.”

“If they think so highly of angels, then it stands to reason they would respect an angel’s decision.”

“It’s an _ angel_! The hell does it know about weird human shit? It’s totally taking advantage.”

Cas hesitates.

“Alright. Alright, I see — it’s true that the angel was naive, but — how else are they supposed to learn?”

“That’s what I’m saying, they’re _ not. _”

Cas purses his lips.

“Dean, it’s a _ story,_” he complains, and — and actually, he has a point. Stupid rut, making Dean sensitive.

He sighs.

“Right. Okay. Go on.”

“Thank you.” Cas huffs. “Anyway, the angel journeys with her to find a way to free her from the curse. In the end, they sacrifice the last of their power to do it.”

“Do they? Sounds to me like they weren’t all that happy with being used, if they went through that much trouble to break the curse.”

Cas glares.

“I — perhaps I’m not a good judge, because I’ve never read a story like that before, but I thought it was _ nice_.”

“It’s trashy porn, Cas.”

“It wasn’t — it wasn’t _ trashy. _I don’t deny that a lot of the books I tried to read, I was unable to continue — there didn’t seem to be much story, Dean — but this one was — it was sweet. And . . . and the sex depicted was . . . also nice.” He looks down. “I would understand why Charlie prefers the company of other women, if it’s always like that.”

Uh, yeah, no, Dean’s not even touching that.

“Okay. Okay, well, I’m glad you found some stuff to read. But seriously, if you ever stumble across a fallen angel, keep your damn hands to yourself.”

He can’t see Cas roll his eyes, but he’s positive it happens.

Anyway, by some miracle, Valencia returns after only an hour and a half, handing over the bag with a smug smile.

“In record time. The best part is, Rachel caught me coming back into the castle and demanded to know what I was bringing into her majesty’s hallowed halls — and _ I got to show her. _”

Dean blinks.

“That’s — a good thing?”

“Yes.” Valencia sighs. “I will never forget her face. She didn’t even say anything, just turned white and fled down the hall. Beautiful.”

Dean nods slowly.

“Okay, cool. Glad you . . . had fun.”

She beams, stuffing the bag in his hand.

“I did. Thank you, Dean. You guys have a good night.”

“You, too. And, uh, seriously, thank you. Means a lot.”

Valencia nods.

“You bet it does,” she says, and Dean pretends that’s not a leer as he shuts the door.

“So, uh. I had Val get you something,” he starts, approaching the bed, and Cas perks up.

“You did? What is it?”

Dean tosses the bag next to him, rubbing the back of his neck.

“So, uh, obviously Hester’s a, uh, a menace, like you said, and I thought — if Valencia can get you one of those, and Sam can stay somewhere else, then you can have my room, ‘til your heat is over, and I’ll just stay in his room next door.”

Cas blinks, tugging the drawstring on the bag loose, and then he sucks in a breath, eyes wide.

“Dean, this is—”

“Yeah, you seemed, uh, you seemed really bummed out that you didn’t have yours, and even if you did, you can’t exactly — you know, if I’m here, and — so, yeah, I just thought — if I can at least do this much for you, that — that’d be good.”

Cas looks up at him, and — and yeah, any discomfort Dean felt at handing his best friend a — _ heat aid — _melts away when he sees Cas’s face.

“_Thank you, _” he breathes out, eyes shining, and — and shit, he looks like Dean just bought him a damn castle or something, even though all Dean is doing is stepping up where Eden completely fucking falls short. Means to manage the huge goddamn nuisance that is a cycle are no more than anybody deserves, in Dean’s opinion, but Cas has been denied that, and this is clearly a big deal to him.

Cas scrambles across the bed, and before Dean can protest, he’s wrapped his arms around Dean in a tight, squeezing hug.

“I love you,” he says, and — oh. That’s — Dean hasn’t heard that in a while, struggled with some pretty fucking scary doubts the whole time he was looking for Cas, so it’s, uh.

It’s . . . pretty nice.

“Yeah. Yeah, me too, man.” He clears his throat, awkwardly patting Cas on the back and breathing in through his mouth, because he’s pretty sure he knows what that new, unidentifiable component to Cas’s scent that his brain keeps shouting at him to investigate is, and he should probably forget, stat. “So, uh. I’m gonna just be next door, if you need anything, but other than that, I’ll — I’ll see you in the morning?”

Cas nods, and he seems almost reluctant when he lets Dean go.

“Alright. Thank you again, Dean.”

Dean shrugs.

“Yeah. You should thank Val, too; she’s the one who went and got it.”

“I will.”

“Okay. Okay, uh. Good night.”

Cas smiles, eyes so bright and warm Dean almost has to look away.

“Good night, Dean. Sleep well.”

Dean leaves (once he’s made sure the bed is all straightened out and he’s brought some extra clean-smelling pillows and blankets over from Sam’s room) and goes over to Sam’s room, deciding to go to sleep rather than try and take advantage of the privacy, especially since it still smells faintly of his brother in here.

And knowing Cas is just one room over, and he’s not mad at Dean, and he’s safe and happy — mostly — and has everything he needs —

Dean _ does _ sleep well; better than he has in _ months. _


	15. Part XV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: none that I can think of, please let me know if I missed something.

When he wakes, sun spilling right over his eyes, Dean also _feels_ better than he has in months.

For about five seconds.

Long before he convinces himself to actually open his eyes, Dean figures out there’s something not quite right about his early-morning experience, and the visual only confirms it.

He’s not alone in his bed.

Which is strange, given that Dean _went _to bed alone — and fell asleep that way, too — and the whole reason he was subjected to lingering traces of pine and winter while he did so was because sharing a bed with Cas while they were both in cycle would just be asking for the kind of trouble neither of them wanted.

And _yet._

A curse forms in his mouth pretty much immediately, but it doesn’t quite make it out, some deep, unjust instinct urging him not to wake his — uh, Cas. The kid is out cold, hair plastered to Dean’s sweaty cheek, breath tickling his neck, and there’s a loosely curled hand tucked up against his bare chest.

Actually, there’s a lot of things tucked up against Dean’s bare skin, because that hand continues into an arm, which is naturally attached to a torso, and apparently Cas forewent the sleep shirt, too.

Fortunately, the leg carelessly thrown over his appears to be pajama-clad, and Dean optimistically shifts, relieved to find the evidence of the crotch pillow shoved between them.

Still, modesty barriers or not, there’s a vacant room next door and Cas reeks of heat and sleep and a very particular kind of satisfaction Dean is Just Not Going To Think About. Which begs the question —

What the _hell _is he doing in bed with Dean?

Dean fumes somewhat anxiously for ten minutes at least, desperately trying to forestall the growing itch beneath his skin. He opens his mouth half a dozen times, eager to wake Cas and shoo him out, but he can’t bring himself to do it, not with Cas peacefully slumbering away like this. Cycles are exhausting, and sleep isn’t always cooperative; Dean’s amazed he managed to tap out for as long as he did.

So — so it’d just be a dick move, waking Cas up before he’s ready. Besides, that’s what the damn pillow is for. Dean’ll just suck it up and think about Ash trying to eat the fishslug.

It’s a full, agonizing half hour of trying to hold himself away from the pillow without disturbing Cas and escalating his various gross-out thoughts to the point that he’s composing a recipe for fishslug pie before Cas finally stirs. One second, Dean is thinking about whisking fishslug guts with milk and cornstarch to get some kind of gravy for a pot pie, and the next Cas is suddenly sucking in a deep breath, curling into Dean and nosing at his neck.

Dean swallows, and feels his adam’s apple brush against the tip of Cas’s nose.

“Cas?” he whispers.

Cas hums, then tilts his face up and _rubs his cheek against Dean’s._

Dean jerks back like he’s been bitten, and Cas lets out a disgruntled huff, eyes slowly blinking open.

“Uh. Hey. Good morning.”

Cas squints at him for a long moment, and Dean just stares back, heart pounding, not sure what to expect and weirdly panicked over it.

And then Cas smiles, blinding in the morning sun, and shuts his eyes again before wriggling closer, reclaiming the lost space.

“Good morning, Dean,” he mumbles, resting his head against Dean’s shoulder, and — and —

And _really_?

“Uh. What, um. What’re you doin’ in here, buddy?”

Cas stills, body tensing a little, and there’s a long silence.

“I — uh. I didn’t want to sleep by myself.”

“Okay. Okay, cool, but — I thought I was gonna, you know. Stay in Sam’s room. So you could have mine.”

He can feel Cas swallow, although Cas remains stubbornly burrowed in Dean’s side.

‘Well. Yes, but — that’s not really necessary if we’re only sleeping, is it?”

“Uh. I mean — but — what if, like, you wake up in the middle of the night and — you know?”

“That’s what the pillow is for,” Cas insists, and Dean just — can’t.

“The pillow doesn’t really fix that problem,” he manages, and Cas pauses, sniffing at his neck.

Dean shivers involuntarily.

“Oh,” he breathes. “Are you—”

“_Yes, _ so — so some _privacy _would be nice, don’t you think?”

Cas disentangles himself with obvious reluctance and sits up, eyes on the blanket.

“I wouldn’t mind,” he says quietly, and Dean freezes.

“Uh. Cas. We talked about this.”

“I know you don’t want my help,” he huffs. “But I don’t know why I have to leave before you can take care of it.”

Dean just _stares, _even though Cas isn’t looking at him.

“Dude. Seriously? You literally ran and hid from this Hester chick and _you don’t know why_?”

“That’s different,” Cas mutters. “Hester is a stranger. I’m your best friend.”

“Really? So you’d be comfortable seeing me do that? You’d be comfortable with _me _ watching _you_?”

Cas doesn’t answer right away, color seeping into his cheeks, and a moment later, Dean’s nose twitches.

Oh, for God’s sake, what kind of shit timing is _that_?

“Yeah, I thought so,” he mutters, trying not to breathe through his nose. “Now, just — you’re awake, and you’re — yeah — so it’s time to go back to your own room, okay?”

Cas, for some reason, does not jump out of the bed and scurry back to the other room.

No, Dean watches his fingers curl around the edge of the comforter, and then he takes a deep breath and says:

“Yes.”

“What?”

“I — that would be fine,” he clarifies quietly.

Dean just looks at him blankly.

“You going back to your room? Yeah, of course it w—”

“No,” Cas interrupts, frowning. “Staying in here. Together.”

Dean blinks.

“No. No, that is — not fine. Dude.”

“I don’t see why not. We’re — we’re friends, and — I _know _you like to have someone with you during your rut, and I’ve always hated staying by myself in the infirmary, so — it — it seems reasonable.” Cas hunches in a little. “I missed you, Dean. I don’t want to go back to my room.”

Which is just — that’s just _cheap, _because what is Dean supposed to say to that? It’s not like Dean wasn’t miserably lonely the entire last year, and he wasn’t even stranded in a hostile environment where he didn’t know if he’d ever see his family again and crazy bitches in the army were smashing pots over his head.

Still — no way in hell is Dean jerking off with big, curious blue eyes boring into him. And sure, he could probably get Cas to agree not to look, but he doesn’t necessarily trust that the kid _won’t — _see curiosity — and even if he doesn’t, Cas is wafting heat scent like crazy and — and it’s not like it smells particularly appealing to Dean, or anything, but he doesn’t want his stupid body to get confused and make shit weird.

“Cas . . .” Dean sits up, rubbing his face. “Look, I — I get that. I know, uh. All this has been rough on you. And I missed you, too, and when we’re outta cycle we can stay in bed together for a week.” He pauses, because somehow that feels a little weird to promise. “But — that’s just — I can’t let you stay in here for this.”

Cas fidgets with the comforter, throwing Dean a sullen glance.

“Why _not_?”

“Because it’s _uncomfortable._ And we both reek. Isn’t Ellen always telling you not to have guests because of that?”

“Yes, but — Dean, you smell _wonderful. _I don’t mind at all.”

Dean’s whole brain sort of slams into the word like it’s a brick wall, utterly losing shape, and then it takes a sharp turn and pretends it never happened.

“I mind,” he points out, and there’s a flicker of hurt in Cas’s eyes.

“Is it that bad?” Cas lifts his arm, sniffing a little, and makes a face. “I suppose it is rather potent.”

“_Exactly. _ Look, you smell — fine, I guess, but it’s, uh. It’s — we all get sensitive to smell in cycle, and like you just said, it’s really _strong._”

Cas is silent for a long moment, and then he sighs.

“Alright. I’ll . . . go back to your room, I guess.”

“Okay. Good. Thank you,” he adds, and Cas just shrugs, not looking at Dean as he slides free of the bed.

He shuffles to the door in silence, and with one last sigh, opens it and steps into the hall, shutting it behind him.

Dean feels like a complete asshole, even though he knows he’s right.

And of course, the whole room — the entire goddamn _bed — _still smells like Cas, anyway.

An hour later, there’s a knock on the door.

“Yeah?” Dean says, a little hopeful. He entered a lull about twenty minutes or so ago, but he’s not tired enough to nap and there’s nothing to do and he’s already bored out of his mind.

“Dean?” Cas calls, and Dean bites back a groan. Of course that wasn’t the end of it.

“Yeah, buddy, what’s up?”

“Um. Are you, uh, are you masturbating?”

Dean’s out of the bed like a shot, throwing the door open with panicked eyes.

“_Dude. _ Did you seriously just yell that into the goddamn _hallway_?”

Cas frowns.

“I just wanted to make sure you could hear me.”

“The whole fucking castle probably—” he cuts off, shaking his head and reaching for Cas’s arm.

Cas doesn’t budge, bicep tightening under Dean’s hand.

“I thought you didn’t want me in there,” he says with a reproachful look, and Dean scowls, letting go.

“You’re right. Never mind.” He steps back into his room, starting to shut the door.

“Wait,” Cas says hastily, bracing a hand against the other side to stall its path. ‘I thought — I took a cold bath, and I don’t expect to have another erection very soon, so I thought if you didn’t, either, then I can sit in here.”

Dean gives him a suspicious look. An hour ago, the answer would have been a very firm no, but Dean has literally nothing to do and no one to talk to, and since it seems like Cas’s scent has permeated the whole damn room, anyway—

“Fine. The minute you start feeling — uh. Whatever, or if I do — you’re goin’ back to your room.”

Cas nods quickly.

“Of course, Dean.”

Dean sighs.

“Fine. Come in.”

Cas is pushing past him, striding determinedly toward the bed before Dean’s even done talking.

It’s frustrating, though, watching him make himself comfortable right in the middle of it. Dean went through all that goddamn effort putting blankets and pillows where Cas was _supposed_ to be staying, and now the bed looks way too sparsely outfitted.

It makes him anxious, for some reason.

“Aren’t you coming back?” Cas asks, propping up on his elbow, and Dean hesitates. On the one hand, it seems like a bad idea for them to both be in the bed, just on principle, but on the other . . .

It’s just — like, Sam doesn’t know shit, and Dean’s _not _ sensitive during his rut, not at all, but nor is he totally opposed to — well, snuggling during his rut. And it is _definitely not _sensitivity, so much as rut instincts, which mean he feels just a tiny bit more content and secure with some contact.

And as long as there are no wayward boners involved, the idea of crawling into bed and snuggling with _Cas _ actually sounds really, really nice. After all, Cas is somebody he loves, somebody he’s been missing for months. Who _wouldn’t _enjoy the extra contact?

Since the logic holds up and Dean is starting to get a little cold, anyway, he finally trudges over to the bed and slips back into his spot.

Cas doesn’t even ask, just eagerly rolls over and flops halfway on Dean’s chest with a criminally happy sigh, face smushed into Dean’s neck, and even though some part of him still feels like this is weird, and even like maybe he shouldn’t be doing it, Dean just puts an arm around him and lets it happen.

Because the contact _does _ feel good — really good, actually, enough that Dean can _feel_ the residual rut tension start to fade — and honestly; what’s the harm?

Dean makes him leave every time he starts to feel ‘uncomfortable’ as he puts it — doubtless this means an erection is perilously close to happening — or if Cas’s scent strengthens in just such a way that Dean insists he should probably have some ‘alone time.’

Fortunately, these two things tend to coincide, for whatever reason, and even though Cas thinks he’d rather lie about having an erection behind the boundary pillow and stay in bed with Dean instead of dealing with it, he can at least be grateful he’s not getting kicked out twice as often.

Because sharing a cycle with Dean is the _best, _and despite his joy at its happening at all, Cas feels the occasional stab of resentment that they haven’t been doing this for years.

And Cas _does _ count it as sharing a cycle, because even if they aren’t technically helping one another ease the demands of the body, he strongly feels that all the other things are more important. All those times he lay in the infirmary bed, lonely and miserable and aching in strange ways and trying to come up with a sound argument for having Dean be present and vice versa, this is what he wanted. He wanted his cycle to not seem so terrifyingly present and uncomfortable; he wanted Dean to just _be _ there, to be close, to talk to him, to lend a sense of normalcy and connection and — and _security _to a painful experience.

So even if Cas has to dart next door to wrangle erections and try and clean himself up enough afterward so he isn’t quite so offensive to Dean, wiling away the hours in between tucked up close together in bed is uncontestably better than simply being by himself. It’s better, even, than Cas _thought _it would be. This isn’t one of those mild heats Cas had when he was younger, or while Dean was away and he was stuck in Hellenia; much of the time, it feels as demanding and severe as any.

But Dean being there makes it — better, somehow. Makes _Cas_ feel better. The frustration and the urgency and even the tiredness seem muted, even if every hour or two that same terrible sense of _need _ overtakes his body; that part is just as bad, and yet, because the other feelings _aren’t, _Cas feels far less at its mercy.

He tries to communicate this to Dean at one point, stubbornly petitioning to just ignore the erection so he can stay in bed and finish hearing about the scandal at a Lettran masquerade ball Dean went to, but Dean is less interested in listening to him and more interested in literally wrestling Cas out of the bed and to the door. Doing so is a struggle, given that Cas is neither small or incompetent, and Cas believes Dean might have actually failed had the scuffle not been somewhat distracting to Cas’s current condition.

Still, since he doesn’t want to be evicted _permanently,_ he doesn’t try it again.

Anyway, when the third day finds Cas awake early and cheerfully disregarding his ‘morning wood’ in favor of watching Dean sleep, he has come to one sure conclusion:

As soon as he returns to Lawrence, he’s challenging Benny.

Dean’s rut lasts five days, as does Cas’s heat, and while he’s a little incredulous that they managed to sync _that fast — _ he didn’t even know it was medically possible, but there’s really no other explanation for why they’d both randomly go into cycle at the same time, at least not one Dean can think of — he does have to admit it’s been kinda nice; it’s been a long, long time since Dean spent a cycle with someone, and while he would have said the primary reason you’d want someone around is because all your instincts are screaming at you to get down and dirty with the nearest warm, nice-smelling person available, he’s surprised to find what a comfort it is just having somebody _around._

And okay, while there are some awkward moments where those godawful instincts get confused about the Cas issue, Dean never actually catches himself thinking about anything so much as he _thinks _about thinking about those things, and shutting those half-thoughts down is a piece of cake after the first few times. Because at the end of the day? His thing with Cas goes way beyond dumbass instincts and hormones or what-the-hell-ever, and for the most part, Dean just enjoys getting to spend time with him again, even when all they do is lie there quietly and breathe.

(Times like that usually devolve into naps, but unconscious or not, napping with Cas is kind of awesome_, _somehow, so whatever.)

Overall, it’s not a bad rut by any means.

What does kind of suck is the fact that Cas has to go back to his own room, once it’s all over.

“Seriously? You get away with staying with me while you’re in _heat, _but the rest of the time it’s a no go?”

Cas gives him a miserable look.

“Anna told Hester she gave me a secret room for additional protection. I don’t want to think what everyone would say if they knew where I’d been.”

Which is bullshit, ‘cause it’s not like he and Cas did anything, because they’re not goddamn _animals — _but it is what it is.

Of course, the very next morning, Dean wakes up overwarm with a faceful of dark, messy hair.

Her just lies there quietly until Cas wakes up, and as soon as they’ve had breakfast, he goes to request an audience with Anna.

“We’ve temporarily reinstated border traffic, as it was before the war, but other than that, things are still up in the air.”

Dean hesitates.

“And . . . nothing about the, uh, the marriage thing?”

Anna tilts her head.

“The letter requesting a resumption of our border arrangement was the first thing out of Eden. News of Cas’s disappearance was one of the first things in. Not knowing exactly what happened, there was . . . tension, over the issue. We’ve primarily focused on establishing order as far as travel and trade. I have since written him explaining the situation, but I have yet to hear back.”

Dean sighs.

“Probably because Sam and I ran off. I bet he’s waiting until he’s made sure I haven’t fucked everything up.”

She lifts her brows.

“He could be hoping you’ll _positively _influence the situation.”

Dean just raises his brows right back.

“My Dad sent me to Lettra for a _year _just because of the whole not-consummating-the-marriage thing. I don’t think he has a lot of faith in me at the moment.”

Anna furrows her brow.

“That was years ago. Cas was a _child._”

“Right? Still is, too, but Dad didn’t care then and he doesn’t care now.”

Anna opens her mouth, but nothing comes out for a moment.

“But — didn’t you just—”

She stops, and Dean waits.

“Ah. Never mind,” she mumbles, frowning at the floor. “Right. Well. I suppose we have some things to talk about. Certainly, I’d appreciate some input on dealing with your father.”

“You and me both,” Dean mutters, then sighs. “I can do that. The thing is — I’m not exactly his favorite person right now. He, uh, he forbade me from coming here.”

“And yet, here you are.”

“Yeah. Sam, too. Dad’s probably, uh, pretty pissed.”

Anna studies him.

“Thank you for coming, though. It . . . means a lot to Cas.” She looks at him, intent. “I’d say it means everything.”

Dean shifts uncomfortably, but nods.

“Yeah. Yeah, this — don’t get me wrong, the kid loves you to pieces — it’s the one thing he hates about living in Lawrence — but I, uh. I think it’s wearing on him, you know, being here. Eden’s . . . real different than what he’s gotten used to.”

Anna smiles faintly at that, though she looks sad.

“I know. This isn’t home for him. It hasn’t been since he presented.”

Dean nods.

“Yeah. That’s — you know, that’s kind of why I wanted to talk to you. Obviously, you’ve got a kingdom to look after, but — I, uh. I’d like to take Cas home as soon as I can. But I don’t wanna risk it until Dad lifts the execution order.”

“I appreciate that,” she says wryly, and Dean huffs a laugh.

“Thought you might. Still . . . I could write him, and I — I think he’ll do it, eventually, since he probably doesn’t wanna piss you off, now that Eden’s back on track, but . . . if you could apply a little pressure, so it’ll happen sooner rather than later, that’d be good.”

She smiles.

“You’ll be glad to know I already have, I’m sure. When I wrote explaining things — I did recommend he lift that, in light of the misunderstanding and Cas’s apparent endangerment in his castle.”

Dean winces.

“Oh, I bet he didn’t like that.”

“Well, he deserved it,” she says, scowling. “Your father’s not a stupid man. If he didn’t notice what Hess was up to, as far as Cas was concerned, it’s because he didn’t care.”

“I, uh. I can’t argue with that.” He hesitates. “I’m sorry, though. I — Bela was right, about that. I should have been there. I just — it didn’t really occur to me he’d be at risk like that, from an ally. I just — I mean, I thought our marriage was a sure thing, so . . .”

Anna nods slowly.

“About that, Dean — Cas asked me to consider that, in my negotiations. He wants to remarry you.” She smiles a little. “Well, technically, he wants your original marriage ‘undenounced,’ but I don’t think that’s possible.”

“Uh. No. No, I — I don’t think so.” He swallows. “Yeah, he, uh. He mentioned that to me.”

Dean hasn’t really given it much thought, to be honest; his rut kind of blindsided him, and either way, his biggest priority is getting Cas home.

“And?” Anna prompts, and Dean blinks, surprised.

“Oh. Uh. I guess — I mean, we’ll figure that part out, I’m sure.”

Her eyes narrow.

“What does that mean?”

“I — what do you mean, what does that mean? The marriage thing was — that was all the treaty, you know? So it kind of depends on you and my Dad.”

“So you’ll marry him again if we make you, and you won’t if we don’t?” she asks flatly, and he shrugs, rubbing his neck.

“Yeah? I — pretty much?”

“And if it were up to you?”

Dean stares, taken aback.

“Uh. It — it’s not.”

“If it _were_?”

“Well — no? It — I mean, that was never our choice in the first place.”

And Dean _feels _like that’s a perfectly reasonable answer, but Anna’s frowning deeply.

“Cas would.”

Dean huffs.

“Of course. He’s stuck _here — _no offense — and he clearly thought our marriage was his only ticket home. But it’s not.”

“You think that’s why he wants to marry you?”

Dean hesitates.

“I — well. No, because he’s got weird ideas about what being married means, but I’m telling you, as soon as we get home and he sees that nothing has changed, he’s not gonna care one way or the other.”

“Really? Do you think so?”

“I _know _so.”

“And what about when you marry someone else?”

“What? Since when am I marrying someone else?” At least, Dean’s _assuming_ the whole deal with Lettra is off the table.

Anna looks like she wants to roll her eyes.

“Are you serious? You think your father won’t make you marry someone else? Maybe not _now_, but eventually.”

Which — she’s not _wrong. _Dean hadn’t thought of that, yet, but yeah, Dad’s bound to find somebody.

“Right. Right, but — Cas’ll be grown up, by then. Things’ll be different. I don’t think he’ll care.”

Anna regards him with something that almost seems like _disappointment_, but Dean has no idea why she’d feel that way, so he figures he’s just bad at reading Edenish kings.

“I see. Well. I hope you’re right, Dean.” She clears her throat. “Anyway — honestly, I’m more interested in receiving some aid toward our rebuilding efforts. There were significant damages during the war, and while Michael might have wanted half-Edenish children on your throne, I don’t believe that’s necessary. It’s certainly not what I’d ask for, given the choice.”

Honestly, if his Dad got his alliance with Eden and_ still_ got to use Dean for something later, he’d probably be thrilled.

Which means — marriage is probably off the table.

But — that’s fine. More than fine, really. Dean’s grateful it happened the first time around — it brought Cas to Lawrence, after all — but they’ve gotten everything they wanted out of it, at this point. Hell, once Cas sees firsthand that his place in Lawrence has fuck-all to do with their marriage, all the weirdness about _helping _ Dean should disappear completely, so if anything, things’ll be _better._

It feels weird, though, the idea of not being married. Dean was only Cas’s age when it happened, after all, and even though Cas is way more innocent and naive than Dean, Dean has enough perspective now to realize he was — he was kind of young.

In some ways, they’ve been married since Dean was a kid, so — so, yeah. It’s weird.

But it’s fine.

“Whatever you wanna do,” he tells Anna, sincere. “Like I said; I just wanna take Cas home.”

That’s what he came here for, after all.

Everything else — well, it just doesn’t matter.

Dean and Anna both write his father that afternoon, sending the letters via special courier, and when Dean returns to his room, Cas is waiting.

“We have a training spot,” he announces, eyes bright.

“Come again?”

“There’s a ballroom, which sustained damage during the siege, and repairs have just finished — but Anna said she’d keep it blocked off, so no one will try to go in.”

Dean perks up.

“Which means—”

Cas impatiently grips his shoulder, pushing him toward the door.

“Which means we can train.” He pauses. “More importantly, _I _can train. I suppose you would have been allowed to do whatever.”

“Sorry,” Dean tries, and Cas just sighs.

“It’s alright. You — you’re going to take me home. And then everything will be fine.”

Dean nods.

“Your sister and I just sent our letters. As soon as we get an all clear, the four of us are going home.”

Cas looks torn as they walk down the corridor.

“That probably means we’re stuck here another month, at least,” he says, though there’s a gleam in his eye.

“But we’re going _home,_” Dean points out, and Cas’s lips curve.

“Yes. Yes, we are.”

They make it to the ballroom without getting caught, although they literally have to hide behind a curtain when Cas peers around a corner and sees a footman coming. Sam and Valencia are waiting when they arrive.

Or, more accurately, they’re throwing things at each other. Dean and Cas observe them for a few speechless moments.

“Is there, uh. Is there always an obstacle course in the ballroom?”

“No,” Cas says slowly. “There wasn’t when Valencia and I came this morning.”

“Ah. Okay. Cool.”

They’re silent another moment, and then Dean flings his arms up just in time to block Cas’s attack.

Cas huffs, reluctantly drawing back.

“How did you know?”

“Dude, I _taught _you that.”

“Bobby taught me that,” he retorts as they circle one another, and Dean grins.

“Well, he taught me that, too.”

Cas rolls his eyes and steps back.

“There should be practice swords somewhere in here,” he says.

“Nah, let’s wrestle first. Warm up.”

Cas hesitates.

“Alright.”

Dean cheerfully tackles him to the ground, pleased when Cas rolls into it, pinning Dean on his back.

“Hellenians are damn scrappy, aren’t they?”

Cas sighs.

“Very. They cheat.”

“But we teach you to handle cheating,” Dean says, jerking free of Cas’s hand. Cas immediately tightens his thighs, holding Dean in place while he attempts to re-secure his arms.

Dean catches his hands, though, lacing their fingers together and using Cas’s reflexive withdrawal to pull himself up, nose to nose with Cas.

“We kinda teach you to cheat, too,” he adds, winking, and boops Cas with the tip of his nose.

Cas flinches, and Dean gleefully surges forward, momentum pushing Cas back onto the ground.

“Did you just — Dean, did you just _boop my nose_?”

He sounds incredulous, though he shouldn’t. Dean tends to get pretty silly when they train.

On the other hand, he doubts any of the Hellenians ever tried to tickle Cas or drool in his ear or anything like that. One of Dean’s favorite tricks is sticking his hands in the pond during the colder months, right before he heads to the courtyard, and starting the session by shoving them up Cas’s tunic. The ensuing squirming and indignation is satisfying on a deep, primal level, and one-hundred-percent worth the numb fingers.

It’s just as well; for whatever reason, the idea of some two-faced Hellenian random playing the Cold Hands game with Cas is almost as bad as the fact that no one bothered to make friends with him in the first place.

Dean squeezes Cas’s hands where they’re pressed against the ground and swoops forward, doing it again.

“You bet your ass I did.”

Outraged, Cas lifts his head and licks a wet stripe up Dean’s cheek, shoving his left hip forward and upending him before swiftly jumping to his feet, poised to defend.

But Dean just flops back on the ground and laughs.

Eden sucks, and Dean can’t wait till they get home — but god damn is he glad to be back with Cas.

It’s nice, getting back into some kind of training routine — he had one in Lettra, but he and Sam didn’t have time to waste and they’ve been traveling nearly two months — but there’s one thing he doesn’t like about it.

Namely, Cas seems to be holding back.

At first, Dean thought he was just a little rusty. It was puzzling, given that he’s been training since he was a child and it sounds like he kicked major Hellenian ass after he ran off, but if he’s really been doing nothing since he got to Eden, maybe he just needs a couple days to get his focus back.

After a couple days, though, it quickly becomes apparent that that’s not it. There’s nothing wrong with Cas at all; he’s doing it on _purpose._

“Dude, what’s with you? You’re not even trying to win.”

Cas blinks, tilting his head to the side as he shakes out his sword hand.

“If I weren’t trying to win, we would have been done with this round twenty minutes ago.”

And _yeah, _Cas is hitting the defensive hard, but every time Dean sees his opportunity and expects him to take it and try for the advantage — Cas just pulls back, instead.

And he has no idea _why._

So of course, he asks Sam (“How would I know, Dean?” “Don’t you have little gossip sessions and shit?” “Right, and when do you think we do that? It’s not like he sneaks into _my _ bedroom every night.”) and he asks Valencia (“ I see. Have you asked him?” “He won’t say.” “So he doesn’t want you to know.” “Exactly.” “And yet you think I’d tell you if _I _knew.” “God damn it.”) and he definitely asks Cas, at least once a day, frequently while pinning him to the ballroom floor.

He gets zip.

Which leaves Dean to figure it out himself, of course, and after a couple weeks of careful analysis, he comes to a conclusion.

Cas is _testing _Dean.

Dean’s seen this before, from Bobby and then from his father, who wanted to measure his skill firsthand. And now Cas is doing it; Cas isn’t interested in victory. If Dean’s been observing Cas, Cas has been observing Dean twice as hard. He might not be trying for any opportunities to gain the upper hand, but he is doing his damndest to keep Dean engaged, to see how Dean handles his evasions and defense. It’s less straightforward, less aggressive than what Dean’s used to from the kid; Cas is always eager to throw everything he has into it, but now he’s not just holding back, he’s _hiding._

Unlike Bobby and John, who wanted to know what Dean could do, Dean gets the distinct impression that Cas doesn’t want _Dean_ to know what _he _can do.

It’s weird. Dean isn’t quite sure why he’s doing it — if Cas doesn’t give him everything, how is Dean supposed to teach him the rest? — but all his efforts to provoke Cas come up short.

Dean decides he’ll worry about it when they go back to Lawrence; for now, he lets Cas play his games, hopes he’s getting whatever it is he wants out of them, and waits for his Dad to write with an all-clear.

It comes three weeks after he and Anna’s letters post, and while Dean’s is _considerably _more terse than the response Anna receives, it includes all the important bits — namely, if the King of Eden wants Cas back in Lawrence, it’s fine by John.

Cas is in the garden, walking with Lady Eleanor — AKA the presumably well-meaning woman Dean always has to sit next to at dinner — and he lights up when Dean approaches.

“Is it time for tra—uh. Tea. With, um, with Valencia and your brother?”

Dean just beams.

“We’re goin’ home, buddy,” he says, and Cas blinks at him for a few bewildered seconds before his eyes widen.

“Your father wrote?”

“He did.” Dean’s grin softens. “We’re all set. I mean it. I’m taking you home.”

Cas stares at him for a second, then breaks away from Lady Eleanor’s side, seizing Dean in an embrace more reminiscent of a chokehold than a hug. The woman lets out a startled cry.

“_Goodness_, Prince Castiel — I — even if you’re to be married again, that’s really—”

Cas pushes off the ground, wrapping his legs around Dean’s waist and squeezing like his life depends on it. There’s another appalled squawk, but Dean ignores it, way too busy struggling to stay balanced.

“Oh — well — I suppose — oh, fine. I’ll pretend I didn’t see anything!” she huffs, and turns to the hedge.

Cas keeps his face buried in Dean’s neck, though he does put his feet back on the ground, and Dean sags in relief.

“Excited?”

Cas groans.

“You have _no_ idea.”

Dean smiles against his hair.

“You gonna let go?”

“In a while. Lady Eleanor doesn’t mind. I caught her reading a tawdry novel the other day.”

“Yeah? More kinky angel bondage stories?”

“It wasn’t bondage,” he insists. “They had a — a profound bond.”

“Just ‘cause the author _says _it’s so doesn’t make it so.”

“The author didn’t, I did,” Cas retorts.

“They gave your warrior chick a _person.”_

“Angel,” Cas corrects.

“Even worse. She didn’t get a choice.”

“They.”

“They what?”

“Ariel wasn’t a ‘she,’ Dean, they were a ‘they.’”

“What the actual hell?”

“Angels only fell into female vessels,”:Cas explains, and Dean swears he can _hear _the frown. “The author actually never said why.”

Dean sighs.

“Because _porn, _Cas.”

“It wasn’t porn. It was a very nice story.”

“Yeah, I’m sure you thought so,” Dean mutters, digging his fingers into Cas’s waist a little, and Cas huffs against his neck.

“What does _that _mean?”

Technically it means that Dean’s still weirded out about the fact that Cas had some sort of sexual awakening while he was gone, but Lady Eleanor is pointedly inspecting the shrub five feet away and yeah, no, they don’t need to talk about it.

“Nothin’. What was the good lady reading about, anyway?”

“Hm? Oh. A young omega’s mother was imprisoned by an alpha beast, and he traded his freedom for hers. But the beast was actually cursed, you see, and the omega had to fall in love with her to break it.”

Dean blinks.

“That doesn’t sound tawdry, that sounds like a horror novel.”

“It was a _romance._”

“Why the hell do all these romances involve _captivity_?”

“Because—” Cas stops. “Actually, that’s . . . not an unreasonable question.”

To the side, Lady Eleanor clears her throat.

“Well, I’m sure I’d be delighted as anyone to receive felicitous word of a new arrangement, my dear princes, but even I must hesitate to condone your, ah, celebration, if it happens to last much longer . . .”

Dean snorts.

“Sorry, Lady Eleanor. Guess we got carried away.” He reluctantly shakes Cas free just as she turns back to them, and he swears he sees her eye twitch when the skirty part of Cas’s dress-robe thing tumbles back to the ground, apparently having gotten rucked up between them at some point.

“Oh, dear,” she utters, clasping her hands delicately. “Well. I suppose — rather unique circumstances—” She sighs. “Do let us go into dinner, before you make a scandal of yourselves.”

Dean nods, and on impulse, reaches for Cas’s hand and tugs off the glove in one smooth motion, linking their fingers.

Lady Eleanor’s mouth falls open, and he winks at her.

“I know you won’t tell,” he says, and pulls a startled Cas along toward the castle with a smug grin.

“What about your old books?” Sam asks, crouched beside the bookcase in Cas’s room, and Cas grunts.

“They’re not mine. At least, not most of them. All of mine were taken away when I presented.”

Sam winces.

“That’s kind of harsh.”

“Yes, well, they were deemed ‘too violent’ for my ‘omega sensibilities.’” Cas rolls his eyes, carefully tucking the little wooden box with his flower comb into his trunk. He intends to wear it the very night they get back, and then go to the market and buy more, preferably in every color but gray.

Cas hasn’t been able to wear it _once _since he came here. Not even after Dean arrived, which is exactly when Cas would have wanted to wear it most, since Dean has probably forgotten exactly how nice Cas looks in it, and that — that seems like a shame.

It was a gift from him, after all, Cas reasons. It would just be polite to wear it for him, so he knows how very much Cas appreciates it and how worthwhile it was to buy it, since Cas _does _look very nice in it.

“Not, um, knocking your culture or anything, but — the secondary gender rules here are kind of insane.”

“Knock away, Sam. I completely agree. I’m very glad to be going home.”

For several reasons, but an escape from the stifling rules of Eden just barely remain at the forefront.

“Right? In some ways, this was worse than going to war.”

Cas pauses.

“I’m sorry.”

“Sorry? What for?”

“Well — everything. I — I haven’t said it before, I don’t think, but . . . I know you worried, while I was gone. Enough that you came all this way for me, and then you had to stay here . . .”

Sam stands, coming to lean against the bed next to him with a warm smile.

“Hey. I was happy to. I just wanted to know you were okay.”

“Which turned out to be a very burdensome task.”

He grins, patting Cas’s shoulder.

“Worth it. Especially since it turns out you didn’t run away, after all. I, um. To be totally honest, my feelings were kind of hurt.”

Cas experiences a horrible twist of guilt, at that.

“I would never leave you if I had a choice, Sam.”

“Thanks. Same, you know.” Sam shakes his head. “Dean was even worse. You should have seen him when he thought you’d ditched us for Bela. He didn’t believe it at all, at first, but the evidence was . . . yeah. He, um. He was devastated.”

Cas aches.

“I’m so sorry. I wish**—**”

“Not your fault,” Sam says quickly. “Seriously. Like I said, we both just wanted you to be alive and well. And then — hopefully — to come home. And you’re doing that.” He huffs a laugh. “Honestly, it all went way better than I thought it might. I was afraid even if we found you here, you wouldn’t want to come back with us, and . . . you know, um. Things wouldn’t be the same without you. For either of us. So — thanks, Cas.”

Cas swallows. Sam shouldn’t be thanking him; fault aside, Cas is the source of all the commotion.

“It — none of this would have happened if I . . .” he stops, not sure how to explain it.

“What? Cas, this would have happened to anyone in your shoes.”

“Not necessarily. I — Sam, if I could just have grown up faster — if I hadn’t been selfish about my knighthood, if I — well, if I had been someone _different, _then Dean’s and my marriage would never have been put in jeopardy to begin with, and you two would never have had to worry or journey so far to find me.”

Sam justs looks confused.

“I don’t — what are you even talking about, Cas? Hess wanted Dean’s spouse gone. She would have tried to kill anyone.”

Cas looks down.

“Even, um. Even if we had heirs?”

Sam is silent for a long time.

“What if you were older?”

“What?”

“Than Dean, I mean. What if you were — in your thirties, or something? And you had been ready for heirs? Would you be upset with him, right now, that he wasn’t ready so you didn’t have them and you ended up a target?”

“_What_?” Is Sam insane? “Of _course _not. I would never want Dean to do something he wasn’t comfortable with.”

Sam regards him with earnest eyes, brow furrowed.

“And if he felt bad anyway?”

“Then I’d tell him he was being an idiot,” Cas huffs, folding his arms. Sam nods, satisfied.

“Well, Dean _isn’t _ ready for that. I mean, he’s twenty-six. And yeah, maybe royal marriages are all about property and politics, so they’ ll do things on a different track , but — but don’t you see? It’s a good thing you’re _not _ someone different, Cas. Dean almost always does what he’s told — he won’t fight for himself, not the way he should. But he _will_ fight for _you.”_

“He shouldn’t have to—”

“And by protecting you,” Sam interrupts, serious, “It means he gets to protect himself, too. I wouldn’t change anything about you, Cas, and neither would Dean. At the end of the day — you’re _alive_. You’re okay, and we’re all going home, and no one has kids they didn’t want yet, and — and that’s pretty much all we could ask for.”

And when Sam puts it like _that — _ well, it’s difficult for Cas to argue. Despite all the trouble he caused, things seem to have worked out. They’ll go home, and everything will be as it was — better, if Cas has his way — and _yes, _that sounds infinitely preferable to whatever alternatives they could be living, even if those alternatives might have saved them some of the last year’s trials.

“That — you’re right,” he says, with some difficulty. “Things may have been hard, on all of us, but — we’re together. And we’re going home.”

The concept is still new and precious in the way something believed to be impossible always is.

Sam nods.

“Exactly.” He hesitates for a moment. “And Cas . . . Dean was, um. He was also really upset when you weren’t waiting at the castle in Hellenia.”

“But I didn’t know—” he starts, and Sam winces.

“Sorry, I didn’t say that right. I just — I wanted to make sure you knew now. That Dean — he’d always come for you.”

Cas’s chest goes tight. He just manages to nod.

“Yes. I — I think I know.” He hopes so, anyway. Each time they’re separated feels even harder than the time before, and after the last year, after finally seeing Dean again, he’s not sure he can handle something like that happening again.

It would have been easier, though, if he could have been sure. If he’d known, beyond any doubt, that Dean would be coming.

“Good. That’s good.” Sam looks at him, intent. “But — it’d be nice, if he heard it from you. That you wouldn’t leave us. That — that you trust him to come get you if something does happen. He, um. He felt really bad. That he hadn’t — done enough, or been enough. And even though it was a misunderstanding, and you’re coming home with us, it — he might feel better if he knew.”

Cas stares.

“How can he think that?”

Helpless, Sam shrugs.

“It’s Dean. I mean — that’s kind of what he does. Just like—” Sam pauses, coloring a little. “Um. Yeah. Anyway, he — he comes up with all kinds of insane explanations for things instead of the logical one, you know? Just to spite himself, it feels like.”

Cas sighs.

“Ah. Yes, I know.” He’s very familiar with this aspect of Dean’s character, and it’s endlessly frustrating.

Sam smiles at his tone.

“Okay. Good talk, man.”

Returning the smile, Cas considers him for a moment, and then steps forward and loops his arms around him.

“Thank you, Sam. For everything you’ve done, but — for caring about me enough to do it. And for telling me that you do.” Cas tightens his grip, hoping to convey his profound sincerity. “I love you, very much.”

Of course, Sam squeezes him back, which is a somewhat winding experiment, and sniffs.

“Yeah. Yeah, of — of course, Cas. I love you, too. I’m really glad you’re part of my family.”

Cas doesn’t even need to think about it.

“Me too,” he says, because that’s what they are, what they all are; _family._

And Cas has never been more grateful for something in his life.

Cas slips away to Dean’s room when he’s finished packing, as is his habit. Dean’s already in pajamas, sprawled out on his stomach and engrossed in a book.

Cas tilts his head curiously — the cover looks somewhat familiar — and drifts to inspect it closer.

And then immediately snatches it out of Dean’s hand.

“Where did you get this?” he demands, and Dean rolls over onto his back, head upside down and looking at Cas with deep amusement.

“Your room,” he says, smirking, and Cas reddens.

“That was an invasion of privacy.”

He gets a raised brow in return.

“So you’ve had free rein of all my stuff for years, but I’m not allowed to look around your room?”

Cas clenches his fists, because Dean has a point.

Unfortunately.

“It was under my _mattress._”

“Which is a crap hiding place, by the way. First place people look for your porn.”

“Dean, I _told _you, it isn’t porn—”

“Dude, I’m forty pages in and they’ve done the nasty twice.”

“It’s not _nasty_, Dean! Ariel made what they thought would be a great sacrifice, and in return, Diana strove to bring them great pleasure, which they’d never experienced.” Cas tucks the book protectively beneath his arm, much aggrieved. “ And if what you say is true, why did you _look _under it?”

Infuriatingly, Dean’s amusement seems to _grow._

He sits up, swiveling to face Cas and propping his elbows on his knees.

“’Cause I had a hunch you swiped it from Crowley’s library, and I wanted to prove I was right.” He shrugs, casual. “And maybe see what all the fuss is about. Gotta say, man, I wouldn’t have figured you for the type.”

Cas scowls.

“_What _type?”

“The lady-on-lady type. You’re in luck, though, Chuckles knows that whole section of the library like the back of her hand—” Dean snickers here, for some reason. “And I”m sure she’ll be happy to give you recommendations.”

Cas reddens further.

“I don’t need her to,” he says stiffly, although a part of him is curious if it’s all like that. The Hellenian castle’s library was _full _of — porn, as Dean calls it. Cas is fairly certain he read every single non-explicit novel in it, but since that only took him a couple months, he eventually had to move on, even if he did so selectively.

He didn’t come across any other stories like this one, though. He wonders if Charlie tells him where to find others, if they’ll be the same — or if this one is just special, the way all his other favorite books are.

Dean’s smile softens a little.

“Hey. You don’t need to be embarrassed, Cas.”

“Then don’t _tease _me.”

Dean hesitates, then pats the bed next to him.

“Sit down, Cas.”

Cas stays where he is, and Dean huffs a laugh.

“Come on, man. I’m sorry I made fun of your porn. Even though it _is_ ridiculous.”

“Your apologies are _terrible, _ Dean. And it’s not ridiculous, it’s _nice__._”

“Dude, Diana is totally taking advantage and Ariel doesn’t know nearly enough to put any of it into context. I mean, it’s fiction, and it’s porn, so there ain’t nothin’ wrong with enjoying it — but don’t pretend that’s not messed up.”

Cas crosses his arms, suddenly very uninterested in telling Dean all the things Sam told him Dean might want to hear.

“Ariel understands more than you think, Dean. You’re only forty pages in, and — you’re _determined_ not to like it.”

Dean frowns.

Then he sighs, and pats the bed again.

“Cas.”

“No.”

“_Cas._”

“I don’t want to sit next to you.”

He swears he sees Dean’s lips twitch.

“Okay. Well. I’m sorry for being a dick about your porn, Cas. As long as _you _like it, that’s the important thing. And . . .” His face turns serious. “If I’ve been, uh. Insensitive. About your — your stuff, and, uh, stuff. Then I’m sorry.”

“I’m not sure what you’re trying to say, Dean, but I don’t accept your apology.” Cas pauses. “Nor do I want to sit next to you.”

Dean looks torn between humor and impatience.

Cas is not sympathetic to either.

“I’m saying — jeez. Look, I was away for a while, and it, uh. You seem to have, uh, figured some stuff out, while I was gone. And that — that _surprised _me — but I just want you to know that all of that — the porn, and the, uh, the heat aid, and — and stuff — that’s totally normal and healthy and shit. And if I made you feel uncomfortable about any of it, that was wrong, and you shouldn’t be, and I’m sorry.” He gives Cas a serious look. “And if you need me to help you find a better hiding place for your porn, I’m here for you.”

Cas looks back at him, suspicious.

“If it’s . . . normal and healthy, then why do I need to hide it?”

Dean blinks.

“Because if your friends find your porn they’ll tease the shit out of you.”

Cas scowls.

“That makes no sense.”

Dean shrugs.

“Look, man, it’s just a thing.”

Ah, yes, Cas’s least favorite type of things are things that are just _things._

Though this does raise the question —

“I’ve looked through all your things before. I never found anything like that.”

Dean chuckles, leaning back and bracing himself on his palms.

“That’s the whole point, Cas.”

Cas nods.

“I see. And I suppose all your — _porn, _is perfectly respectable.”

“Hell no, Cas, that’s why people hide it!”

Cas looks skyward.

“You’re being very contradictory, Dean.”

Dean just grins, cheeky.

“Makes perfect sense to me.”

With a sigh, Cas walks over to the bed, sitting down beside him and thrusting the book into his lap with slightly more force than necessary.

“Finish reading it, Dean. And pay attention. There’s much more to it than you think.”

Dean turns the book over in his hands, then shrugs.

“Alright. Why the hell not?” He sets it aside, bumping Cas’s shoulder with his. “You all packed?”

“Yes. I didn’t have many things, and I’m not eager to take any of my new clothing.”

“Not a fan of the dresses?”

Cas shrugs.

“They’re inconvenient for most things, but they’re comfortable enough for relaxing in. They’re all a very fine material. But they’re also all _gr__e__y._”

“Nothin’ wrong with that. It’s not a bad color on you.”

Cas slumps.

“But I didn’t get a choice. And I don’t want to be reminded of when we weren’t married.”

No, now that everything is going back to normal, Cas wants to forget the time they were divorced ever happened.

Dean’s expression stills, and then a muscle in his cheek twitches.

“Uh. Right.”

“What?”

“Hm? Nothin’. Anyway, if you like the dresses, take some. That light grey one was practically purple.”

“It made me look sallow,” Cas mutters, bitter. He’d specifically chosen it because it was effectively lavender, and it hadn’t occurred to him that it would make him look _bad._

“What? Dude, no it didn’t.”

“It did.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. It was fine,” Dean insists, and Cas snorts.

“I’m reminding you of this next time you pass over the rust colored tunic in your armoire.”

“Okay, that legitimately makes my skin look like I just went on a weekend bender — water retention included. It’s totally different, man.”

“_Anyway. _There’s no point in taking dresses back to Lawrence. Hardly anyone wears them. None of the men do, certainly.”

Dean hesitates, then lifts his hand, brushing it over Cas’s hair.

“Didn’t stop you and your flowers. Besides, twenty or thirty years ago, people wore dumb clothes without pockets. If you want some dresses, knock yourself out.”

Cas considers this. He could always buy new ones, in colors, for the days he wasn’t going to train, was going to curl up in the library and didn’t want to be distracted by pants seams digging into his skin.

“You think I look weird in them,” he states, though it’s almost a question. Dean said he didn’t, but Anna was giving him a rather severe look at the time.

Dean looks surprised.

“No, I don’t.”

“You do.”

“I mean, it — it _surprised _me, but — dude, I don’t care what you wear.”

Somehow, this answer is even less satisfying than thinking Dean prefers him in any particular thing.

“But you remarked on the flowers and the dress,” Cas presses. “You obviously have opinions.”

Dean looks vaguely harassed.

“I — maybe? When you _ask _me. But come on, Cas, I don’t really look at you most days, you know?”

There’s a stab of something vicious and unhappy deep within him, but then Dean continues.

“Anyway, you look good in whatever you wear, man. You start wearin’ dresses back home and everybody else’ll probably suddenly wanna buy ‘em, too.” He thinks for a minute. “Just don’t wear ‘em on the damn training field.”

Very slightly mollified, Cas relaxes.

“Maybe I’ll buy some. In blue.”

Dean nods.

“You look good in blue.”

Cas brightens a little, though he sends Dean a sideways look.

“Opinions,” he mutters, and Dean laughs.

“Everybody thinks you look good in blue. Doesn’t count.”

Cas feels terribly warm, so he allows himself a few beats of silence to adjust.

“No bonnets, though,” Dean says suddenly, and Cas nods vigorously.

“No bonnets.”

Dean just smiles and squeezes his shoulder.

It’s only when they’ve gotten in bed and put out the candles that Cas remembers his conversation wiith Sam.

They’re both tired, and they have a long day of travel ahead of them, and Cas is somewhat skeptical that Dean is still bothered by any such thoughts — but if he _is, _then this is important.

After their cycles ended, Cas reluctantly returned to keeping some approximation of space between them before they fell asleep, but tonight, he rolls over until he’s pressed against Dean, propping up on one elbow to try and look at his face in the dark.

He just makes out the shape of Dean’s smile, and his hand twitches, wanting to reach out and trace it.

“Too excited to sleep?” Dean asks, voice low and drowsy, and Cas’s heart seems to leap within his chest.

“Not exactly.” He hesitates, then shifts, letting more of his weight fall to Dean’s chest. He can feel him breathing, deep and steady, and the rhythm soothes as much as it riles. “I just — I wanted to tell you — I’m sorry for not waiting in Hellenia.”

Dean’s chest rises, but doesn’t fall.

“Well. That — I mean. Eden reopened and your sister was here, so — uh. This actually made the most sense.”

“Yes. But — I also thought I might not see you again.” Cas hesitates, then lightly lays his palm against Dean’s cheek. He can tell Dean is watching him, waiting, and wonders how much Dean can see in the dark. “It didn’t occur to me to wait for you.”

There’s a pause, and then the fall comes, a deep sigh.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m — I’m sorry.”

“That’s not — Dean, _I’m _sorry. I should have had more faith in you. I was — I was stuck there, thinking you might just do as your father said and marry Antonia, and that I’d never go home again. And that was wrong. Because you’ve always — you’ve always put me first. Though you’ve never had to. And I should have trusted what you’ve always done, rather than being afraid of what you could.”

“Cas—” Dean starts, reaching up to cover Cas’s hand with his own, and Cas closes his eyes, leaning forward and resting his forehead against Dean’s.

“And I would never, ever leave you,” he whispers, and it’s almost as if Dean breathes the words back in, lungs filling sharply. “Not if I had a choice. Because if I do have a choice, I — I’d always choose you. You make me very happy, Dean.”

There’s a beat of silence, and then Dean’s hand tightens over his, keeping it pressed to his cheek as he slowly nods. Cas could swear, at one point, that their mouths brush with the motion.

“Okay,” he says, barely audible and warm in the scant space between them. “Thanks, Cas.”

Cas opens his mouth, intending to say ‘of course’ or ‘thank _you, _Dean’ or even just ‘you’re welcome.’

“I love you,” he says instead, perhaps a little differently than he usually does, but that’s fine, because the answer feels right_._

They breathe in silence for a few moments, and then Cas is being gently rolled to his back, Dean hovering close for an endless second before he leans down and touches soft lips to the corner of Cas’s jaw.

“Me too, sweetheart.” He draws off to the side a little, keeping one arm slung across Cas’s chest as he settles in, nose against Cas’s hair. “Go to sleep.”

Cas wonders if Dean can feel his heartbeat, if Dean thinks it’s strange how fast it races, the way it thuds inside his chest.

But Dean says nothing more, breathing evenly beside him.

Surprisingly, Cas falls asleep soon after.

A very large crowd gathers to see them off. Dean thinks it’s gotta be at least an hour before people are done paying their respects to Cas, telling him how much he’ll be missed and encouraging him to return at any time.

Dean’s conflicted. On the one hand, Cas deserves that, deserves the people of his homeland thinking well of him, affirming his value to them in a way his older brother never did.

On the other, it makes him antsy. Dean wants to move closer, invade the little space carved out for these farewell meetings and put his hand on Cas’s shoulder, just so they know that while the words are nice, they’re not enough. Cas doesn’t belong in Eden — never really did, in Dean’s opinion — and hearing person after person talk to him like he’s _leaving _ home instead of _going _there sets Dean’s teeth on edge.

But Cas looks deeply touched by everything said, by the fact that they’re there for him in the first place, so Dean bites his tongue and hangs back with Sam and Valencia, feigning patience as the procession drags on.

Anna comes to stand beside him, and he nods at her.

“Kid’s popular,” he remarks, and she tilts her head, familiar in a way that has an involuntary smile pulling at his lips.

“He is. He’s appalling, as far as Edenish standards go, but they love him anyway.”

“Well, they should,” Dean says gruffly, and she nods.

“He’ll be happier in Lawrence, Dean.”

It takes him a moment to respond, mostly because he’s stuck on last night, on that thing he almost thinks he dreamed, that thing he’s not sure how to think about but knows he’ll never forget.

_You make me very happy._

“That’s the idea,” he eventually says.

“If he’s not, he’s always welcome back here. I know he doesn’t care for the rules, but things are still settling. With time, I think I can improve them.”

Dean frowns.

“You think he won’t be?”

She hums.

“I think it depends.” She clears her throat. “I asked you to take care of him, when you married.”

“I remember.”

“That request stands.”

“I — anything that’s in my power—” he starts, and she holds up a hand, eyes sharp.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Dean,” she says softly, at odds with her expression. “If he’s suffering — in any way — I want him back.”

Dean swallows, some unpleasant feeling churning in his gut.

“’That’s up to Cas.”

She shakes her head.

“Just remember what you’ve promised.”

They stand in silence until finally, Cas is ready to go. The crowd draws back, leaving Anna room to embrace her brother, words exchanged quietly between them for a few minutes before she kisses his forehead and unnecessarily helps him onto his horse.

Dean takes that as his cue to go over and mount his own. As he nears, he hears Cas tell Anna he loves her.

It sounds different, somehow, than when he tells Dean. Not more or less.

Just different.

And that makes sense — Dean is Cas’s best friend, and Anna is his older sister — but his mind sticks on the thought, restless and wondering.

As the gate opens, he stubbornly shakes it loose, and together, they leave the castle behind.

“So, why are you coming with us, again?”

Dean is grudgingly grateful to Bela for both not poisoning Cas and taking him to safety, but he’s also still resentful over the fallout from their escape.

Someone could have left him a better note, is all he’s saying, and he’s decided that’s one-hundred-percent Bela’s fault.

“Because I’m hardly going to stay in Eden.”

“Really? That’s worse than Hellenia?”

Bela rolls her eyes.

“Very nearly. While I would choose Eden over Hellenia, were they my only options, they’re not.”

Dean shifts uneasily.

“Uh. Listen, with everything going on, I — you know, it’ll probably be fine, but I kinda forgot to ask my Dad about you.”

If anything, she looks amused.

“Of course you didn’t. Castiel’s sister did, however, and has negotiated for my comfortable asylum in a place where I need neither to suffer the various dramas of barbarians or wear those ridiculous hats.”

“Oh. So . . . are you getting like, an estate in the country, or what?”

“Actually, I’ve become rather fond of Winchester castle and its assorted residents,” she informs him, and he swears there’s a glint of smugness in her eyes. “I’ll be enjoying my exile there, thank you.”

Dean frowns.

“Okay. I’m sure that won’t be weird,” he mutters, and then another thought occurs to him. “Hey, wait. I thought you and Anna were mated or something.”

Behind him, Valencia coughs.

“We are not,” Bela insists calmly, smoothing her hair behind her ear. “And even if we were, I doubt any bond could survive both parties being stranded in that godawful society. To think I found _Lettra _tedious.”

“But—” he starts again, and then notices Cas giving him an incredibly disapproving side-eye. He shuts his mouth. “Okay. Uh. Cool. Hope you have a good time in Lawrence.”

Bela relaxes a little.

“Thank you, Dean.” Gracious as she sounds, it’s clear the conversation is over.

That’s fine with him, though. He catches Sam’s eye, making a face at him, because _seriously, _the drama — but Sam just shrugs.

Anyway, the trip out of Eden is way more comfortable than the trip in, primarily because they’re not in an anxious, tearing hurry, which means they can stop in the towns for proper beds and meals.

There are downsides though; it takes a little more time to make it the border, and every time they stop at an inn and the proprietor refuses to let Cas share a room with Dean, Cas looks like he’s about two steps away from murder.

“This is ridiculous,” he complains one night, angrily curling around his pillow after he’s snuck out of his own room, as he always does. “Just because your father and my sister haven’t _officially_ fixed our marriage yet doesn’t mean it shouldn’t _count._”

Dean hasn’t heard a peep from either one of the mentioned parties about fixing the marriage or anything else, but it’s clear that Cas has somehow gotten the impression that it’s a given. Dean has no idea what to say to things like this, so he just makes sympathetic noises and waits for Cas to settle down.

After all, if he says anything _now, _Cas will just get upset and anxious and stay that way the whole trip back. Dean figures the best thing he can do for the kid is keep his mouth shut until they get back and Cas can experience firsthand that nothing will change, even though they’re not married and they probably won’t be again.

Dean just hopes his Dad hasn’t found another Princess Antonia while he’s been away. The idea of getting married to another stranger sounds _exhausting, _and Cas is bound to get fussy if it happens before they’ve settled back into a routine.

Anyway, Cas gets used to biting his tongue and just disregarding the innkeepers when no one’s looking, and a couple weeks later, they clear the border. Everyone seems to brighten considerably at the total absence of socially coded hatwear, and three days before Christmas, they’re a mere two towns away from the castle.

“What if the others are angry with me?” Cas asks, and Dean hears him shift a little closer in the dark.

“They’re not.” Dean sent a brief letter to Charlie when he wrote his Dad, letting her know what had happened and that everybody was alive and well. Her response was mostly ‘screw you guys, we were so worried, get your dumb butts home safe.’

“You had one letter from Charlie, which sounded a _little _angry,” Cas points out, and Dean huffs.

“Angry in the friendly way. It’ll be fine.”

“You don’t _know_—”

Dean rolls over, deliberately landing half on top of Cas, and Cas grunts.

“Seriously, Cas. It’ll be fine. No one’s mad at you, and if they are, you’ll kick their asses.”

Cas sighs, awkwardly folding his arms beneath Dean’s.

“I’m not going to hurt anyone for being upset with me.”

“Fine, then _I’ll_ kick their asses.”

“You’re missing the point.”

“Makes two of us.”

Cas sighs again, and Dean sighs back, exaggerated and mocking, before he props up on his elbow and squints at the dark outline of Cas’s face.

“I’m serious. If anyone’s in trouble, it’ll be me and Sam, since we left without talking to anybody or explaining.”

“So did I—”

“Except everyone was probably worried you were dead or unhappy, so you get an automatic pass for bein’ okay. Don’t be surprised if we don’t see each other for three days while you’re busy being buried under a pile of cuddly people who missed the shit out of you.”

“That sounds unpleasant.”

“You’ll live,” Dean says, and flops back down, eliciting a startled cough. “See? You’re fine. If you’re not, I promise to get Bobby to excuse you from training for a week and give you all the massages you want.”

“I don’t want Bobby to give me massages,” Cas says doubtfully, and Dean snorts.

“Shut up and go to sleep, Cas,” he mutters, shifting off of him. It’s dark, but he’s pretty sure Cas can hear him grinning, anyway.

“Good night, Dean,” Cas says politely, and yeah, Dean can hear his smile, too.

Unsurprisingly — to Dean, anyway — nobody is mad at Cas.

The hall’s welcome home banquet party begins pretty much as soon as the massive crowd in the courtyard has hustled them all inside and stripped them of their coats, and by one AM, it’s still in full swing.

Cas is drunk off his ass — which is hilarious to see, especially since Dean is in the same boat — and when he’s invited to join the circle for cards, he declares himself to be on Dean’s team and clumsily crawls into his lap, leaning back against him. He’s wholly uninterested in playing the game and uncooperative in letting Dean play, but Dean manages to reach around him and maneuver his cards, anyway, during which time he swears Cas falls asleep.

Cas wakes up half an hour later, though, roused to consciousness and indignation by Charlie trying to goad Benny into betting his flower crown.

“His what?” Dean repeats, confused, and then Cas is scrambling out of his lap, crawling over to Charlie.

“Charlie, you can’t do that,” he insists. “Sam and I picked that out _just for Benny. _ You . . . you and Benny look _completely different, _Charlie.”

Charlie blinks, then frowns.

“Hey! I’m just as pretty as Benny.”

“Of course. Of _course, _ of course, you’re both beautiful.” Cas places a palm on each of their cheeks, earnest. “But _different._”

Dean scowls.

“What’s this about a flower crown?”

Cas wobbles a little as he tries to turn around, and Benny hastily reaches an arm out to steady him.

“Cas bought me a flower crown at the market. Which I ain’t bettin’, Red. Cas is right. It’ll look all wrong on you.”

Charlie pouts.

“No it won’t!” She suddenly lights up. “Go get it and I’ll show you!”

Benny sighs.

“Alright, but only so we can prove it looks better on me.”

Cas latches onto Benny’s arm, standing with him.

"I’ll get my comb, too,” he announces.

Charlie beams.

“So I can try it on?”

Cas furrows his brow.

“No. So I can wear it.”

“I could still try it on!”

“No,” Cas says, giving her a suspicious look. “Dean bought it for _me_.”

“Should’ve asked for your own, Red,” Benny points out, and Charlie sniffs.

“I was busy worrying about pants, it’s not my fault!”

“What the hell?” Dean asks, but is once again ignored.

Cas stumbles off toward the corridor, and Dean scrambles to his feet, reaching for him.

Cas pushes him back down with a firm, gentle hand.

“No, no, no. Stay, Dean. It’s a surprise.”

“What? I’ve seen you wear it before.”

Cas shakes his head.

“But I’m sure you forgot.”

“Uh, no, I remember it.”

“You forgot how pretty I am,” Cas explains. “But I’ll show you.”

With a determined nod, Cas strides off a little more smoothly, and Dean stares after him, trying to parse the words.

“The hell?”

Next to him, Ash slaps his back a couple times, practically knocking him over.

“Woo,” he crows. “You poor bastard.”

Dean just shrugs him off and goes to find another beer.

He returns to his spot in time to see Charlie trying to wrestle a pink and white flower crown off of Benny’s head, where it looks . . . disturbingly good, but still not better than Dean’s does, for the record, and about thirty seconds later, Cas crashes to his knees in front of Dean, flushed and beaming and comb tucked haphazardly in his messy locks.

“There,” he announces, grasping Dean’s chin and steering his head to look at him.

Dean blinks, swallowing. He can kind of see Cas’s point, actually. He’s been looking at Cas in various grey dress-things for weeks, and despite Cas’s complaints, he didn’t realize how much they washed him out.

But now Dean’s vision is all bright blue flowers and bright blue eyes, all dark hair and pink cheeks and a brilliant white smile, just inches away.

The smile starts to fade, Cas’s expectant look deflating.

“Real pretty, Cas,” Dean says quickly. “The, uh. The prettiest.”

For some reason, Dean thinks about Lady Eleanor telling him how pretty Cas is, so pretty Dean had better flatter him often.

Cas smiles again, and Dean’s knackered brain wonders if she was on to something.

“Thank you, Dean.” The light grip on his chin loosens further, Cas’s fingers petting over Dean’s jaw. “But I think — I think you’re the prettiest.”

Dean lets out a startled laugh.

“Uh, no. No, that’s not it.”

Cas opens his mouth, clearly about to protest, when Charlie lets out a triumphant shout.

“Suck it, Benny!” she crows, nimbly darting around Cas to stand behind Dean. “Okay, Cas! Who does it look better on?”

Cas squints at her, and Dean cranes his neck, following his gaze.

“Benny,” he blurts out, surprised, before Cas can answer, and Charlie’s face falls.

“Thank you, brother,” Benny calls from behind him, but Charlie just crosses her arms.

“What do you two dummies know? Cas, what do _you _think?”

Cas gives her a sad look.

“I’m sorry, Charlie. I’ll get one just for you next time.”

Defeated, Charlie drops the crown back on Benny’s head and proceeds to kick everyone’s ass at poker.

Anyway, Cas does end up in a pile of people, sandwiched between Charlie and Jo, who unilaterally declare it ‘our turn’ to snuggle with him. Dean’s not happy about it, not at all, but they have enough of a point that he bunks down underneath one of the tables instead of skulking off to his bedroom.

Of course, the hangover in the morning is a bitch, especially because Cas is in the same boat and just getting him to get up and sit in his chair pretty much saps all of Dean’s energy.

Cas ends up leaning against him the whole time, nibbling at a single piece of toast for the full couple of hours the tired crowd spends lingering.

“Is it bedtime?” Cas asks once they begin to disperse, voice tired and flower comb drooping perilously close to his ear. Dean wants to laugh, kind of wants to be a dick and threaten him with training, but breakfast is an imminent threat in his fragile stomach and he feels like he barely slept, even though it was afternoon by the time they all woke up.

“Yeah. Yeah, it is.”

Cas practically drags him up the stairs, only letting go of his hand when the bed is near enough to crawl into.

They nap well into the evening, and Dean is really fucking glad to be home.

Their second day back, Dean does not wake up hungover, but he does wake up alone.

A little confused, he shaves and dresses and heads down to the Hall, where he finds Cas standing several feet away from the table, speaking to Benny.

Dean watches them for a few moments, and then they reach out and shake hands.

Huh. Weird.

“What was that about?” he asks, once he’s made his way to his chair and Cas is settling in beside him.

There’s a long silence.

“I had a question for Benny,” Cas eventually answers, studying his plate.

“Okay. That’s not at all mysterious.”

Cas still doesn’t meet his eye.

“It’s nothing, Dean. Let’s eat.”

Dean’s insanely curious, but Cas is stubborn, so instead of asking he just picks up his plate and dumps a huge serving of carrots on it.

That curiosity niggles at him for hours, but when he leaves a tense meeting with his father to discuss the negotiations with Eden, he wonders no more.

Dean enters the courtyard to find it full of people, crowded around a wide circle of open space, at the center of which stand Benny and Cas.

At least, they stand for a moment, before Benny lunges forward and brings his sword crashing down on Cas.

Dean sucks in a breath, starting forward in horror, but Cas meets steel with steel, letting it slide and spinning around behind Benny. Benny’s quick to turn, take himself out of reach, and they circle each other carefully once more.

“What the hell is happening?” he mutters, and beside him, Jo starts.

“Jesus, Dean, where did you even come from? Cas said you were meeting with your father.”

Dean watches, pulse unsteady, as Cas brings his sword up, then swiftly crouches, sweeping Benny’s leg out from under him. Benny rolls with it, bringing the flat side up to block Cas’s strike with such force Cas stumbles back a little. He’s on his feet in an instant, and they return to stalemate.

“Why the hell is Benny fighting Cas?”

“They’re fighting each other, dumbass. Cas challenged him.”

He gives her an incredulous look.

“_What_? Why?”

Jo smirks, the glint in her eye not totally kind when she glances over at him, but he ignores it in favor of turning back to the match. The courtyard is dead silent, attention rapt as they wait for the next move.

“Why do you think, Dean?”

Like that answers anything.

Dean doesn’t say a word, just watches Benny and Cas slowly move around each other, eyes sharp and assessing. It’s weird to see, especially standing at a distance like this. Cas is smaller than Benny, of course, but what surprises Dean is how he actually isn’t _that _much smaller. Cas is almost of a height with him, somehow, and decently broad despite his leanness.

Armored up and sword in hand, facing each other in the circle — there’s just not a huge difference.

It feels weird. For some reason, it suddenly makes Dean wonder what Cas looks like standing next to him. Cas is a few inches shorter, at least, and no matter how much fun it is to tease him about honeycakes or the way all the air in Dean’s lungs wheezes out when he takes Cas’s weight, Dean would have described him as — not a small guy, maybe, but — but small-ish.

He doesn’t look small at all, right now.

Benny tilts his head, blue eyes twinkling, and then his mouth curves.

And suddenly, he rushes forward, and Dean recognizes the true start to the match, because the sharp clang of swords is suddenly ringing out every few seconds, precise and unceasing, and Benny and Cas are a blur as they move. Benny’s bullishly strong, and way more graceful than anyone ever expects, but Cas is lightning fast and damned slippery. Though Dean’s never given it a thought before now, he’s suddenly not sure who he’d bet on.

Around them, the crowd takes this as their cue, as well, launching into a roar of unintelligible shouts and cheers.

Dean’s first instinct should be to bet on Benny, just because Benny’s got six years on Cas and he’s Dean’s second for a goddamn good reason, but Dean watches Cas move, watches him dodge and maneuver against each strike of superior force, and he finds himself holding his breath.

They go on like that, strangely beautiful and absolutely captivating to the onlooking crowd, and Dean can’t tear his eyes away. Sweat drips down their temples, muscles straining beneath sleeves, but neither one of them seems to flag or falter.

Benny’s sword slashes across the fabric of Cas’s tunic, just beneath his shoulder armor, and Dean nearly swallows his tongue. It’s a challenge — of _course _they’re using real swords — and though they’re not meant to seriously injure one another, Dean’s suddenly agonizingly aware it’s a possibility.

What the hell was Benny thinking?

Cas seems unfazed, though, neatly bringing his sword up to shove Benny’s blade away, and they continue on, breaths audible even from where Dean is standing.

And then, after God knows how long, Cas suddenly twists his sword, rearranging his grip and slamming the hilt into Benny’s wrist at just the right angle. Benny flinches in surprise, scrambling to keep his own sword in his grasp, and then Cas is lurching forward, throwing him onto the ground.

It’s as if everything slows down, Dean just standing there, watching Benny go down, Cas following after. Cas’s leg moves, and suddenly his knee’s on Benny’s sternum, pressing him into the ground, sword held millimeters from his neck as he looks up in surprise.

“_Yield__!_” Cas snarls.

And right there, in that strange, slow moment, it’s like the world around Dean shifts, ever so subtly. He looks at Cas, at his dark hair, damp with sweat and sticking to his forehead and temples, at the steel and unnatural brightness in his blue eyes, at the hard line of his jaw.

At the way his mouth forms that one demand, a mouth Dean is used to thinking of in terms of soft, happy smiles and stupidly adorable pouts.

He takes in the sheer _power _radiating from Cas in this moment, and the weirdest part isn’t that it _doesn’t _look like Cas - it’s that it _does_. It’s that Dean feels like he just found something out, something huge and monumental and new, about someone he thought he already knew through and through.

He turns away, a strange feeling sitting in his stomach, skin hot and uncomfortable, secondhand adrenaline coursing through him.

And even though it’s just about time for dinner, Dean quietly detaches himself from the crowd and goes to take a walk.

“Where’s Dean?” Sam asks, which is fortunate, because Cas has been waiting very impatiently since he got to dinner three minutes ago, and he thought he should wait at least five before asking.

Jo hums.

“Dunno. Wandered off after your match with Benny.”

Cas straightens, alarmed.

“He saw?”

“Yup.”

Cas is torn between delight and disappointment. He’d deliberately arranged for his challenge to take place while Dean was busy, partly in case he lost but mostly because he didn’t want Dean to have a good chance to observe him before _they_ fight; still, Cas thinks he did very well.

And he wants to know what Dean thinks, too.

“Where do you think he went?”

Jo just shrugs.

“Hell if I know.”

Cas frowns.

“He’ll come to dinner, right?”

“Definitely. It’s food and we’re talking about Dean.”

He relaxes at that, but when another ten minutes have passed and Dean still hasn’t arrived, he starts to worry.

“Perhaps I should go look for him.”

Charlie pats his shoulder.

“I’m sure he’s on his way. You _should _start eating, though.”

Cas hesitates. He doesn’t want to eat without Dean. And this is only their third night back; if Dean returns and Cas has already begun, he might think Cas doesn’t want him plating his food for him anymore, and he might stop doing it.

Cas has been waiting over a year for a return to their routine, and the last thing he wants is for it to change.

“I’ll wait. If he isn’t here in five minutes, I’ll go look.”

Sam looks concerned.

“You want me to come with you?”

Cas shakes his head.

“No, that’s al—Dean!” He shoots up out of his chair, just barely restraining himself from running toward the door Dean just walked through. It takes Dean a minute to cross the hall toward their table, but Cas doesn’t sit down until he’s there.

“Hey, guys.” He’s smiling, but something about it doesn’t seem quite right.

“Hello.” Cas hesitates. “Where did you go?”

Dean shrugs, but the first thing he does when he sits down is reach for Cas’s plate, and Cas relaxes a little.

“Took a walk.”

“Oh. If, um. If you’d waited, I could have come.”

“’S’okay.” Dean hesitates, carefully measuring out a square of lasagna. “You were kinda busy.”

“Jo said you saw the match.”

Dean smiles a little.

“Saw you kick Benny’s ass.”

“Aw, c’mon now, brother. I’m just tryin’ to eat my dinner.”

Cas fails to fight a grin.

“I did well?” he presses, and Dean rolls his eyes, putting Cas’s plate back down and giving his shoulder a brief squeeze.

“Yeah, you did well. Really well.” There’s an unmistakable note of pride in his voice, and Cas basks in it like a physical tthing. “I, uh. I wouldn’t have said you were ready for that, yet, but nope — you did great, sweetheart.”

There’s a silence around the table for a moment, and Dean suddenly flinches away, picking up his plate and dumping an alarming quantity of mashed potatoes onto it. Cas would be more upset, but there’s that word again, and it settles just as warm and sweet in his mind as it did the last time.

Cas, as he so often does, wishes it were okay to kiss Dean.

Across the table, Sam clears his throat.

“So, um. Anyone — heard from Rowena about the weather next week?”

Cas thinks he hears Valencia murmur, “Really, Sam?”, but he’s too busy pretending to focus on his plate and wondering if it’s possible for a human being to actually _glow._

If it is, he’s probably doing it.

“So, what’s, uh, what’s with challenging Benny?” Dean asks later, once they’ve said goodnight to Sam and Valencia and gotten ready for bed. They’re curled up with some books, since it’s not that late, and Dean is supposed to be focusing on finishing the first book of Cas’s trashy fantasy porn, but none of the words sink in.

Cas doesn’t look up from his book.

“I wanted to know if I could beat him.”

“Sure.” Dean gets that. He remembers being a teenager, eager to prove himself to his Dad.

Which — he hopes that’s not what’s happening here.

“But — why now? I mean . . . you’ve got time, you know. You can, uh. Go at your own pace. You don’t need to worry about anyone else.”

He sneaks a glance over at Cas, but Cas’s expression hasn’t changed.

“Well,” he eventually says. “I want to be the best knight in your army. Sooner rather than later would be nice.”

Dean swallows.

“Okay. Okay, I — I mean, I’m sure you will be, but — you know. I don’t think we’ll be going to war anytime soon, and — and you’re still young.”

“I’m not that young.”

Dean’s chest feels weirdly cold.

“Right. Right, I — not _that _young — but — but still pretty young. Just . . . I don’t want you, uh. Stressing over it. You should . . . y’know. Just enjoy yourself.”

Cas finally looks up, searing blue locking onto Dean.

“I’m trying to,” he says simply, and that cold feeling flashes warm and jesus, Dean has no idea.

“Oh. Okay. Cool.”

They just sort of — _look _at each other for a long moment, and Dean’s feeling increasingly weird about it all when Cas’s gaze flickers down.

And then he frowns.

“Wait. What part are you at?”

“Uh. Diana just fought off some land pirates — which I’m pretty sure are just bandits, Cas — and also she’s been hurt? But I think they’re about to get down and dirty in the woods anyway.”

“You’re at the—”

Cas sits up, crawling forward and craning his neck to read the words on the page.

“Dean!” he snaps. “This is _important. _This is a pivotal moment in the story! How can you ask questions at a time like this?”

Dean draws his head back a little, startled by Cas’s sudden vehemence.

“Jeez, sorry, I didn’t know.”

“It was _obvious_!”

“It was _not,_” he retorts. “They do this like, every fifteen pages. Diana does something badass and then she gets all worn out and Ariel has to kiss it better in the biblical sense.”

“That is a _vast _ oversimplification, Dean, and more importantly — this is _different. _ Ariel is tired of Diana’s recklessness, of being treated as helpless — as _useless_.”

“Oh, _now _ who’s bein’ insensitive? Ariel’s plenty helpful. Gotta say, I wish I had an Ariel when _I_ went to war.”

Cas’s expression turns uncomfortably stormy, which makes zero sense; Cas should be happy Dean is acknowledging _anything _of merit in this dumbass story. It’s the most ridiculous thing he’s ever read.

“Ariel is happy to accompany her,” he continues, like Dean didn’t speak. “But they want Diana to respect them, to see them as an equal instead of something to protect. It’s a very emotional scene.” He sets his jaw, pushing the book back toward Dean. “Read it. And _pay attention._”

Dean rolls his eyes, flopping back into the pillows.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m reading it.”

And despite his lingering unease over the fact that they’ve been home less than three days and Cas has already gone toe-to-toe with Benny, Dean does just that.

In hindsight, he probably shouldn’t have read thirty straight pages of porn right before bed.

Dean knows he’s dreaming, because he doesn’t even remember the last time he had the energy to _think _about getting laid let alone when he actually did it, and also because there’s that strange, muzzy quality to everything, a lack of continuity that means his brain knows where he is and what he’s doing but doesn’t remember how he got there in the first place.

He doesn’t care, though. The body underneath his is warm and solid and sweat-slick as they move together, and every nerve in Dean’s body is awash with pleasure, muted and heightened all at once, the way it is in dreams. He’s got his nose buried in their neck, their scent bright and sweet and irresistibly tart in a way that spurs him on, tells him he’s doing this right even if the rhythm of the other body weren’t already loud and clear on that.

It’s the best thing Dean’s ever smelled, better than dinner or pie or the unmistakable Lawrence air after he’s been stuck in some other country for months on end.

His teeth tease at the smooth skin below his lips, and there’s a cry, soft and gruff all at once, right in his ear. It all feels so _much, _ so _good, _and he tells them so, kisses their throat and collarbone and breathes them in as they move, and he can’t sort out if it’s slow and languid or fast and urgent, just that it’s exactly what he wants right now.

Dean lifts his head, pushing up onto his hands and looking down at where Cas lies, cheeks flushed and face half-buried in the pillow, his blue flower comb hopelessly askew and bound to fall off his head at any moment. His eyes are shut tight, lips parted, and as soon as he feels Dean move away from him he turns his head forward. His eyes open, brilliant and blue around wide, dark pupils.

And then he smiles, and Dean feels himself smiling back, and Cas unwinds a hand from the sheet and reaches for him, drawing him back down for a messy, uncoordinated kiss.

“_Dean,_” he breathes out, and Dean smiles wider, then kisses him back as they race toward the edge.

Dean wakes up before they get there, which is a blessing and a curse, because it means he technically only did half of a fucked-up, shameful thing, but it also means he remembers, with startling clarity, what the fucked-up, shameful thing was.

Cas is right up next to him, close enough Dean can feel his breath on his cheek, but they’re not touching much and he’s still fast asleep, so Dean can at least be grateful for that. His face is burning, arousal fled in the face of guilt and shame, and he has no idea what he would have done if he’d woken up to Cas wrapped around him, if — if he’d _done _something to him, without realizing.

Dean gets out of bed as quickly and quietly as possible, and promptly heads to one of the bath houses to scrub his skin raw. He sits there well past when the water’s gone cold — and given that it’s the middle of winter, it gets pretty damn cold — but a part of him feels like he deserves to sit and freeze there, because — because what the _hell_?

Porn before bed or not, how could he dream about doing that to _Cas_?

If it were anyone else, Dean would say, ‘eh, whatever, dreams are weird,’ but that’s — this is different. Cas is the last person he should be thinking about that way, and — and — and it was so _real. _There were no giraffes marching around the room, no rain falling from the ceiling, no weird costumes or strange gibberish spoken between them.

Nope, it was just them, their bed and their room, just the way it always is. That was Cas’s flower comb, and that was Cas’s scent — right down to that bloom of arousal, which Dean’s stupid fucking brain apparently remembers vividly from their time in Eden — and that was his smile, the one he gives Dean when he’s happy, with Dean specifically.

_You make me very happy._

Yeah, he’s pretty sure that’s not what Cas had in mind.

Dean gets out and drains the tub when he starts to shiver, but a part of him is tempted to fill it back up, because he still feels dirty.

Another bath won’t fix it, though.

He dresses and heads back to the castle, but he’s careful not to pass through the Hall, even though he can smell breakfast and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t hungry.

He doesn’t know how to face Cas, though. Hell, he’s not sure how to face _anyone, _if they’re going to take one look at him and know exactly what kind of filthy, deviant things he was dreaming about this morning.

And even though he doubts he’ll know any better by dinner, it sure as hell doesn’t stop him from spending the whole day hiding.


	16. Part XVI

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: none that I can think of, please let me know if I missed something.

Cas is cold when he wakes up, dimming the lingering good mood from his dreams. The crisp, exhilarating sensation of soaring over snow-capped mountains fades, and he shivers, rolling over without opening his eyes, seeking Dean’s warmth.

It’s not there.

He squints at the empty space beside him for a moment, then drags the other half of the covers closer, carefully ensconcing himself while he settles in to wait.

Perhaps Dean will bring breakfast. It _is _Christmas Eve; they’ll eat lunch in the hall, and then spend the evening and night celebrating with the rest of the castle. Breakfast in bed is no terrible sacrifice, then. In fact, it sounds very nice.

But twenty minutes pass, and neither Dean or breakfast appears, so Cas reluctantly gets out of bed to dress and go down to the hall. He can’t help but feel a little put out. If Dean wasn’t coming back, he could have at least found some way to let him know.

When he arrives, however, Dean is nowhere to be found.

“Saw him headin’ to the bathhouses way early this morning. No clue where he went after that,” Ash informs him, unconcerned.

It’s unlike Dean to miss a meal, though, and he bathed just last night. It’s _December; _how could he want another so soon?

Cas waits as long as he feels is reasonable before he gives into Sam’s worried looks and prepares his own plate, deciding he’ll have to find Dean after he eats.

It takes him an hour of searching both likely and unlikely places before it finally occurs to him to visit the gate, on the off-chance Dean actually left the castle. There, the guards inform him that he rode into town a couple hours before.

The whole thing is strange and without precedent, and past being disturbed, Cas is a little hurt Dean didn’t invite him to go along. He’s hardly about to chase him down when he has no idea where in town he went (or if his presence is unwanted), though, so he trudges back into the castle and spends the rest of the morning curled up next to Sam in the library.

When Dean fails to return by lunch, he asks if anyone knows why he went to town to begin with, but no one’s even spoken to him today.

Resigned, Cas wanders to the kitchens with Sam and Valencia to help with-slash-investigate dinner. If Dean isn’t back in time for the festivities to begin, Cas will go into town and find him himself, darkness and winter be damned.

But Dean does return, waiting at the table by the time Cas has changed his clothes, put in his flower comb, and come back downstairs. It’s a relief, but Cas still hesitates as he approaches, unsure what to expect.

“Hello, Dean,” he greets him, and Dean starts, turning around. He opens his mouth, and then shuts it, swallowing.

“You’re wearing your comb,” he blurts out, and Cas nods, a little self-conscious.

“Yes. It — this is a party, technically, and I couldn’t wear it in Eden . . .” He pauses. “You said it looked pretty.”

Dean’s cheeks darken a little.

“I mean — I — yeah, but I don’t—”

The words never resolve into any kind of meaningful sentence, and Dean abruptly turns back to his plate.

“Did you, um, did you have a nice trip into town?” Cas asks, settling into his chair and hoping Dean won’t be in such a strange mood all evening.

“Huh? Oh. Yeah. It — yeah. I just — picked up a few gifts and hung out at Dame Lafitte’s, is all.”

Cas tries and fails to ignore the pang in his ribs.

“Oh. I would have come with you.”

Dean smiles, though Cas doesn’t think he imagines the tension in it.

“Nah, it’s okay. Couldn’t have bought you anything, if you had.”

“But I don’t have anything for anyone, now.”

“Don’t worry about it. There’s always later.”

Cas wasn’t worried about it, had anticipated all his gifts for the others being belated, but if Dean was going to the market anyway—

Well, Cas doesn’t really understand why he left him behind. And he’s not being selfish; he doesn’t understand why Sam and Valencia weren’t invited either, when none of them have had the opportunity to shop for presents (with the exception of Charlie’s. Cas brought back the most absurd beta hat he could find for her).

And supposedly, Dean just didn’t want an audience to spoil the surprise, but _still._

“Alright.”

Cas sits there, staring at him, for a full three minutes before Dean suddenly flinches and reaches for his plate.

“Right. Sorry,” he mumbles, but he doesn’t look at Cas, and once their plates are filled and everyone is settled, Dean devotes his entire focus to his food.

He jokes around with the others, a few times, but not once does he say anything to Cas.

It makes Cas wonder.

Dean drinks surprisingly little, considering what he usually puts away at celebratory events, but Cas is anxious and disgruntled enough that he probably drinks whatever Dean normally would have. The combination makes him reckless and clingy, which is unfortunate, because every time he manages to attach himself to Dean, Dean subsequently disappears somewhere else.

Which of course makes Cas wonder even harder.

“Dean,” he demands sometime after midnight. “Are you mad at me?”

Dean just stares at him with wide eyes for several seconds, and Cas shifts impatiently in his seat.

His seat also shifts, though, and Cas acknowledges, at this point, that he may have over-imbibed.

“Cas,” Dean says, sounding kind of funny, and Cas bristles further, because Dean has been strange all day and he’s tired of it. “Cas — you — could you get off me? Please?”

Cas frowns.

“So you are mad at me.”

“What? No — no, I”m not — I just — you’re — personal _space, _buddy.”

Cas slumps, head pitching forward to rest on Dean’s shoulder, and Dean lets out a strangled sort of hiccup.

“Dean — Dean, I like when you call me ‘buddy,’” Cas explains, trying not to sound too frustrated. “But I like when you call me ‘sweetheart,’ better.”

With monumental effort, he lifts his head, searching Dean’s face. Dean is incredibly intelligent, but possesses a number of blindspots, and Cas wants to make sure he understands.

What, exactly, Cas wants him to understand, Cas isn’t sure; the important thing is that Dean continue to call him sweetheart. It’s happened twice, which suggests it wasn’t a fluke, but anything is possible, and Dean should be aware of his preferences.

“Uh,” Dean starts, and Cas blinks, suddenly aware of his selfishness.

“Oh — I can call you something special, too,” he assures him, eyes flicking between Dean’s. “Although — although, honestly, Dean, I like calling you Dean. If you want, I’ll call you something else, at least sometimes, but — but I like your name. I like saying your name.”

Cas droops a little, letting his head fall back to Dean’s shoulder. A hand seizes his sleeve, comforting in its warmth.

“Uh, Cas—”

“Dean,” Cas says tiredly, burrowing into the crook of Dean’s neck a little. “Dean. Dean, Dean, Dean.”

“Right, yes, that — that is my name, but — but Cas—”

“Sweetheart.”

“Cas—”

“If you’re really not angry at me, call me ‘sweetheart,’” Cas mumbles, and then a terrible thought occurs to him. “Unless — are you _tired_ of me?”

“I — am I _what_?”

Cas absentmindedly locates his own hands on Dean’s shoulders and gently slides them to the back of his neck with a sigh.

“I don’t know. I missed you, Dean, more than I can say, so when you came to get me, I just — I just wanted to spend time with you. But maybe it was too much_. _And now — you want to get away from me.”

“That — dude, that’s really not—”

“And I’m sorry I didn’t let you have your rut in peace,” he adds, though he’s really not. Still, if Dean is feeling crowded, Cas can be polite and lie.

“Uh, it — it’s okay, I guess, but—”

“I didn’t want to be by myself,” Cas continues, because even if he apologizes, Dean should at least know why he pushed. “I hate having my heat alone, Dean. That’s why I fought Benny, I don’t want to be alone again next time—”

“Wait, what the _fuck_?” Dean chokes out, wrestling Cas away. “What — what the hell does Benny have to do with your heat?”

Cas shakes his head.

“It’s a secret. I’m sorry. Please don’t be tired of me.”

Dean looks upset, and perhaps mildly panicked, though Cas is feeling somewhat hazy at this point.

“Right. Okay. I’m not — I’m not tired of you. But seriously, what the hell kind of secret are we talking here?”

“I’ll tell you when it’s time, Dean,” he assures him.

“But—”

“I’m tired,” Cas interrupts, patting his chest. “Will you take me to bed now?”

Dean inhales sharply.

“Uh. We — we’re sleeping in here, remember?”

“Oh. Right.” Cas nods. “Do I need to set up our spot?”

Dean huffs a laugh, though Cas still thinks he looks uncomfortable.

“Nope, and good thing, ‘cause I don’t think you can, right now.”

“I can. I did it every night when Bela and I ran away.”

“Seriously? She couldn’t set up a damn tent for you?”

Cas squints.

“Should she have?”

“Uh, yeah? _I’d_ have pitched a tent for you!” Dean flinches. “I mean — I’d have — the — anyway, the _point_—”

“Bela didn’t have the advantage of my training, Dean,” Cas interrupts. His head is beginning to hurt, and he’d very much like a nap. “I think it was fair. I also think we should go to bed now.”

Dean sighs, scratching his neck.

“Alright.”

They sit in silence for a few moments, and Dean coughs.

“You’ve gotta get off me, buddy.”

Cas purses his lips.

“Not until you call me sweetheart.”

“I will let you sleep right here, I swear to God.”

“No, you won’t.”

Dean glowers at him just long enough for Cas to wonder if perhaps this is not the best means of placating Dean, but then he looks away.

“C’mon, _sweetheart_,” he mutters. “Bed time.”

Disappointed, Cas shakes his head.

“You said it differently before.”

“I don’t remember.”

“You sound angry now.”

“Maybe ‘cause my legs are falling asleep and you’re in my bubble.”

“We’re married,” Cas says, defensive. “I think that means we share a bubble.”

Dean falls mysteriously silent, at that.

“Well,” he says eventually. “Uh. Anyway. Sleep. We should — sleep.”

Cas just sits back, staring intently. Dean reddens beneath his scrutiny, and then makes a face.

“God damn it, Cas,” he mumbles, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I don’t — I can’t just — you get how awkward this is, right?”

Cas shakes his head slightly.

“I don’t think it’s awkward.”

“You don’t think _anything _is awkward!”

“That’s not true, Dean. I think a lot of things are awkward. Sam, for instance, is frequently awkward.”

Dean snorts, and Cas tries not to look too pleased with himself.

“Okay, well, _this_ is definitely awkward,” he insists. “You can’t just — sit in people’s laps and ask them to call you sweetheart, man, drunk or not.

“But it’s _your _lap,” Cas points out, though this doesn’t seem to reassure Dean.

“_Especially _my lap!” he blusters, and that’s just—

“That doesn’t make any sense, Dean.”

“It — yes, it does! We — we — it’s — we’re already so — I mean, it’s just—”

At this point, Cas is wondering if Dean had a lot more to drink when Cas wasn’t looking.

“I don’t know who else’s lap I’d sit in,” he says slowly, and Dean looks dismayed, though at least he doesn’t keep talking. “You should do the thing, Dean, so we can sleep.”

“You’re _still_—”

“Yes.”

Dean looks skyward.

“Un-fuckin’-believable.”

“Dean.”

“How’m I supposed to not sound angry when I’m angry?”

Cas deflates a little.

“Is there something I can do to make you not angry?”

Dean blinks, then shakes his head.

“Get off my lap and let me _sleep._”

“Oh.”

Abashed, Cas gets to his feet, offering Dean a hand. Dean ignores it, though, and scrambles up on his own, dusting off the seat of his pants. He doesn’t look at Cas as he stalks over to what must be their bedrolls, and Cas trails after him on somewhat unsteady feet, aware he’s pushed too far.

Dean swears when they get there.

“What the _hell, _Ash?”

Ash pops upright from his place on the floor about ten feet away, holding up a triumphant fist.

“You’re welcome, dude!”

“Oh, hell no, don’t ‘dude’ me, you dick—”

“Dean?”

Ash just waves and flops back into bed, and Dean grimaces at the large, combined bedroll they’ve stopped in front of.

Personally, Cas thinks Ash did a great job; it looks very cozy and inviting, although its distance from all the other bedrolls is somewhat strange.

“God damn it,” Dean mutters. “Alright. Just — get in, then.”

Cas hesitates, but complies; Dean is definitely angry now, even if he wasn’t earlier.

“I’m sorry,” he says, once Dean has settled in dishearteningly far from him. “I didn’t mean to push.”

“’S’fine,” Dean mumbles.

Cas shifts a little closer. The hall isn’t _not _drafty. It seems impractical to leave such a big gap between them.

“Merry Christmas, Dean,” he offers quietly. For a moment, Dean doesn’t respond, and then he sighs.

“Merry Christmas, sweetheart,” he murmurs, tired but soft, and Cas forgets to breathe for a second. “Now shut up and go to sleep.”

Dean jolts awake late on Christmas morning, subconscious alarm shaking him out of another horrifyingly detailed dream about Cas. Given that dream-Cas was in Dean’s goddamn lap this time, saying his name over and over and _over_ again, Dean feels safe blaming the whole fucking thing on Cas’s drunken shenanigans just before they went to bed.

He rolls away from the warmth at his side, trying to will his hormones dead.

He just — he can’t do this. Once was bad enough, but if he’s going to wake up every morning feeling like a filthy pervert only to spend the day trying not to look at Cas too close, lest his _conscious_ brain catch deviance, he doesn’t think it’ll take him very long to go insane.

Hell, he has no idea why this is a problem in the first place. He and Cas are _close, _okay, they’ve been close for _years, _complete with affectionate words and touches and the occasional bedtime snuggle and whatever else closeness entails, and not once has Dean thought of him that way. Dean spent nearly a week in the same damn room while Cas was _in heat _and smelling like an apple ready to be picked — which, actually, no, fuck that metaphor — and it didn’t even affect him.

Well — it _mostly _didn’t. Sure, maybe Dean’s cycle amped up a few times there, and his rut-hazed brain went _hey buddy, Cas sure smells nice, don’t you think? _But the rest of his senses pretty immediately chimed in with a _yeah, no, how about we don’t go there, Mr. Shitty Ideas, _and rut brain harrumphed and settled the fuck down.

But now Dean doesn’t even have that excuse, yet his stupid mind is apparently fixated on what Cas might look like and sound like and feel like if they—

“Mm,” hums Cas, rolling over and stretching a little. “What time is it?”

Dean buries his face in the pillow, ashamed.

“Dunno,” he mumbles, and Cas sighs. A moment later, there’s a warm press of weight at Dean's back.

“Did you sleep well?”

“Uh. Yeah, I guess. You? ‘M surprised you’re up, as much as you drank.”

Unlike Dean. Yeah, Dean went to bed stone cold sober, and-fucking-_yet_—

“I’m fine. I’d like to brush my teeth, though.”

“I’ll bet. Why do you think I’m facing this way?” he jokes, because he’s a dick like that, and his discomfort is calling a lot of shots here.

“I doubt you’ve fared much better, as much pie as you ate,” Cas retorts, though there’s no bite to it.

“You’re probably right.”

They’re quiet for a moment, and then Cas lays a hand on his shoulder, tugging a little.

“It’s Christmas,” Cas informs him, and Dean just sort of nods, paralyzed by the gentle grip on his shoulder. “You said you bought me a present.”

“Uh. Yeah. Yeah, I — I did. It’s upstairs.”

He feels Cas nod against his back, and swallows hard.

“I suppose we’ll have to wait for everyone else.

Dean just nods, and then shakes himself.

“Uh. No. Actually, no, I don’t — maybe I should give it to you when we’re alone.”

And god damn it, he can _feel _Cas perk up — except not like _that, _oh God—

“What are you going to give me, Dean?” he asks, applying a little more pressure to Dean’s shoulder, enough that Dean rolls.

Cas looks at him, eyes bright and curious, and Dean suddenly wonders why the hell he thought the gift was a good idea.

“You’ll find out later,” Dean says.

“Why can’t you give it to me in front of everyone else?”

“Because I can’t,” he retorts, trying not to stare into Cas’s eyes too hard.

He fails.

“Is it a personal item?” Cas asks, tilting his head, and then his brow dips. “Because I checked, and my heat aid is still in your nightstand, and I also brought back the one I used in Eden, so I already have one too many. It’s not as though I can use more than one at a time.”

He grimaces as he says it, and Dean chokes on air.

“Uh—”

“Although, Miss Audrey sold a variety of different things,” he continues, thoughtful. “I didn’t know what anything else was, but she did assure me they were all-mmmfhrn?”

“Cas,” Dean says, gritting his teeth, because thinking about — _stuff — _with your best friend is one thing, but thinking about him using — _other stuff — _on himself is just — “Stop talking.”

“Mrhn.”

Suspicious, Dean pulls his hand away from Cas’s mouth, and Cas huffs.

“If you didn’t get me something from Miss Audrey, why can’t I open it in front of everyone else?”

And Dean wants to say it’s nothing like that, except that wouldn’t be totally true, and _what the hell was he thinking?_

“You’ll see,” he mutters. “Now let’s go visit the bathroom and stuff. I want time to shave before breakfast.”

Cas reaches out, touching his jaw, sort of like he did in Dean’s dream when Dean—

Nope, nope, nope.

“You’re barely prickly. I don’t know why you’re so obsessive about shaving.”

“Look, man, not everyone can rock a five-o-clock in the middle of the day or, you know, ever. Stop poking at my face and let’s go.”

Fortunately, this just leads to Cas rubbing at his own jaw, a little disgruntled.

“I don’t understand why it grows so fast,” he grumbles, but gets up from the bedroll, following Dean out of the hall.

About half the hall is awake by the time they’ve cleaned up and come back down, and Dean doesn’t even want to know why a few people look them over and then exchange amused smiles.

He finds out anyway.

“Snuck back upstairs for some alone time, huh?” Meg calls, and Dean whips his head around, gaping.

“Excuse me?”

“Dean wanted to shave,” Cas explains, and Meg smirks.

“Sure he did,” she drawls, and then — _smacks Cas's ass _as she passes. “Get it, Clarence.”

Dean bristles.

“Keep your damn hands to yourself, Meg!”

“Oh, whatever. I'm sure Clarence doesn’t mind. And it is _his _ass, no matter _what_ fun things you do to it.”

Of course, as soon as she says it, Dean gets vivid flashbacks to stupid dreams he shouldn’t be having, and he doubts he’s ever blushed so hard in his life.

“You — your face is his ass,” he sputters, and Meg lifts her brows, vaguely delighted.

“Wow. To be a fly on the wall in your bedchamber,” she says slowly, eyeing Dean with interest. “Clarence, come catch up with me later. Bye-bye, Deano.”

“That’s not — we didn’t — damn it, Cas, say something!” After all, Cas certainly had plenty to say the one time _Dean _tried something like that.

But when Dean turns to look at him, Cas is avidly inspecting the floor, cheeks red.

“I, um. Meg is just — like that. Let’s eat,” he mumbles,

Numbly, Dean trudges along after him to where the tables have been converted to a buffet; he prepares Cas’s plate and silently directs him to go sit down at their bedroll, then does his own, all the while pretending half the hall doesn’t think he and Cas snuck back upstairs to — to do stuff.

Jesus Christ, how is this suddenly his life? He finally doesn’t have to worry about being stuck in Lettra or Cas having run off with some Lettran douchebag or being trapped in Eden with all their funny rules, and he’s home for less than two days before some new bullshit drama starts up.

He just doesn’t understand why this is happening.

Everyone’s tugged their bedrolls a little closer, mimicking their usual table arrangement, though Jo is still sprawled out, head resting on Benny’s leg while he tosses scraps of muffin into her mouth.

“Rough night?” Dean asks her, and she closes her eyes.

“I’m never drinking again.”

“You’ll be fine. Give her some bacon, Benny.”

Benny obliges, but to be honest, he doesn’t look much better, and he absentmindedly tucks a whole piece in her mouth. Dean watches as she tries to gnaw a piece off without losing it, and then huffs and sits up, hair sticking out every which way.

“So where the hell did you two run off to?” she asks, mouth half-full, and Benny politely reaches over and shuts it. She just rolls her eyes.

“Dean wanted to shave,” Cas explains for the second time, though this time he looks around expectantly.

There’s a chorus of snorts and giggles, and Dean scowls.

“What was that?”

“Nothing,” Charlie says, so brightly Dean doesn’t dignify it with a response.

He definitely ignores Cas’s smug look.

Breakfast is had — and had again, for a lot of them; god knows why drinking and bingeing make you so fucking hungry the next morning — and then they all put up their bedrolls and spend the day playing games and generally dicking around.

Cas sticks close, which is nice, in some ways, because it’s Cas and contrary to Cas’s random hypersensitivity, Dean’s nowhere near sick of him yet, but is also a problem, in other ways, because it _is _nice, and by the time evening rolls around and he’s watching Cas bounce around to a lively lute tune with Charlie on one arm and Alfie on the other, Dean is feeling really confused.

He’s confused, because he just spent the whole day noticing how blue Cas’s eyes are, and how great his bone structure is, especially at this and that angle, and how graceful he is, but in a kind of powerful way, a combination that makes him a great knight but also probably makes him great at other things Dean’s put an embargo on thinking about.

And that shouldn’t be difficult, because it never has been before — why would he want to? — but right now, watching Cas’s delighted frolicking, Dean’s—

Well, _confused_.

Cas looks adorable, like he always has, like Dean expects him to. But he also looks kind of — kind of _hot_. His hair is a fucking wreck, but it’s like some horrible switch has been flipped in Dean’s brain and instead of thinking it’s messy like Cas just spent the day playing outside, Dean’s first thought is that it looks like someone just spent a good chunk of time running their fingers through it.

And then he realizes somebody kind of did, because Dean had a couple of ales in between lunch and dinner and didn’t object hard enough when Cas took a nap with his head in Dean’s lap.

Which he wouldn’t have thought anything of even a week ago, but now Dean’s paranoid, and he can’t help but wonder if he and Cas have always touched this much, and if they have — and he’s pretty sure they have — maybe it wasn’t such a good idea.

Maybe it’s why he’s so confused now, so much so that he’s creeping on his best friend who also happens to be a young, innocent kid in his charge.

But he really _is_ fucked up, because when he thinks about that, about how wrong this is, he also thinks about how Cas bought something from Audacious Audrey and enjoys ridiculous lesbian porn and is completely blasé and cavalier when talking about his orgasms, of which he’s apparently had ‘plenty.’

As if that were relevant, when Dean knows it’s not, knows there are clear lines here and he’s definitely crossing them.

But the song is done and Cas is laughing and then he’s coming over, insisting Dean come dance with him, and Dean should probably say no, should probably try and get some space from him since apparently he didn’t get enough, yesterday — but he doesn’t.

He lets Cas wind their fingers together, like they always do — and that’s weird, now that he thinks about it, that they hold hands all the time. When did that start? Why did he think that was okay? — and then he dances with him, even though it means they get too close and he notices how incredible Cas smells and it just makes it obvious, every time they press in together, that there’s a difference between dancing with Cas and dancing with Charlie or Ash or the others.

And that difference should be that everyone else is on equal footing with him, whereas Cas is like a kid, like a younger sibling —

But that’s not it.

That’s not it, and Dean has no idea how to handle whatever it actually is.

Cas still seems tipsy and way too pleased with himself once Dean finally runs out of excuses to linger downstairs with the rapidly dwindling crowd, and Dean follows him up to their room with some amount of trepidation.

“Dean,” Cas says seriously, once they make it upstairs, and Dean glances at him on his way to the wardrobe, still struggling to shake his feelings of weirdness.

“What’s up? You out of clean pajamas?”

“What? No, I still have some. But — you said you’d give me my present once we were alone.”

Dean pauses, shirt in hand, then coughs.

“Right. Yeah. It’s — it’s nothin’ big, you know, so I hope you didn’t get too excited.”

“Big or not, it’s a present.” Cas hesitates, then quietly adds, “From you.”

Dean swallows, not sure how to take that.

“Yeah, uh, alright. Let me change first. You, too.”

Cas doesn’t need telling twice. He makes short work of stripping down and donning his pajamas, which is unfortunate, because it means Dean forgets to turn around in time, which means he sort of gets stuck there, watching the play of muscle across Cas’s back as he pulls his shirt off.

Then the pants follow, and Dean is frozen for some long, terrible moment as Cas pushes them down, the backs of his thighs tensing in a way that’s — that’s —

Dean turns around and quickly starts changing.

What the hell is _wrong _with him?

“If you tell me where it is, I can get it,” Cas offers, a touch impatient, and Dean can’t help a small smile. Still, it takes him a second to gather his bearings.

“Under the mattress,” he finally says, tying the drawstring on his pajama pants and turning back around. Cas tilts his head, puzzled squint in place, and Dean’s heart gives a painful, wildly inappropriate thump.

“You — bought me porn?”

Dean snorts, though honestly, he’s a little surprised the skin on his face hasn’t just melted off at this point.

“Hey, man, if you don’t want it—”

Cas shoulder-checks him as he passes, pushing up the mattress and patting his hand around eagerly until he clearly locates his prize. Dean watches, suddenly nervous, as Cas carefully extracts the three books and sets them on the bed.

“Oh—” he starts, snatching up the first in the series. “This — this is the same author as—”

“Yeah. Saw ‘em at the bookstall and figured you could at least try ‘em.”

Cas cracks the book open, searching out the summary.

“It’s about a princess,” he informs Dean excitedly.

Dean sighs.

“Why am I not surprised?”

“On the night she intends to run away to avoid an arranged marriage, the woman who wants revenge on her father abducts her,” he continues, scanning the summary page.

Which — Dean throws him a disbelieving look.

“Abduction? Really?”

“It sounds exciting,” Cas enthuses pointedly, although Dean swears he looks a little doubtful.

“Right, exciting is a word for it.”

“Shut up, Dean. Or I’ll read it out loud.”

Dean swallows, eyes flying to Cas’s.

“Uh.”

“I will.”

“But — it’s porn.”

“It’s not—”

“There are sex scenes every fifteen pages, which — you’d seriously read them out _loud_?”

Of course, as soon as the words are out of his mouth, Dean is suddenly strongly put in mind of the scene in _Warrior’s__ Angel _where they discovered that cache of letters during their investigation into who murdered Diana’s family.

(The same scene where Diana read aloud a particularly steamy missive to Ariel and they ended up fucking on the Lord of the Manor’s chamber table.)

He can tell by the way Cas shuts his mouth and goes red that he’s probably thinking about it, too.

And then — and then Cas actually _looks _at the table and Dean can’t help but follow his gaze and —

“Gonna brush my teeth,” he mumbles, and ducks into the washroom without waiting for an answer.

Certainly, he’s not gonna think about the damn table, or what anybody could do to anybody else on top of it.

Cas is tucked up in bed, already reading his book by the time Dean gets out, and Dean has to actually pluck it from his hands to get him to go wash up. He’s in and out in record time, snatching it back before Dean can even crack some awkward joke. Resigned to the candle burning for at least another hour before Cas can be talked into sleep, Dean opens the nightstand drawer to pull out _Angel’s Grace _and judge the author a little more.

(Which — now that he’s a couple books in, he thinks that maybe it _is _a little sweet; it’s still mostly porn, though, and it’s definitely kind of fucked up, too.)

Of course, on the heels of _that_ thought, Dean suddenly notices Audacious Audrey’s signature velvet bag, and jesus, he has no idea what to do with it. It’s Cas’s room as much as Dean’s — he doesn’t even know when that happened — but Cas can’t just store his ‘heat aid’ in what’s practically plain sight. It’s just — it’s awkward. It’s not like Dean doesn’t own one of those — most people do — but he keeps it in the false bottom of his ceremonial-wear trunk along with his porn and whatever else he didn’t want Cas or Sam stumbling upon.

Which — God, when was the last time he set eyes on any of that? The problem with Dean’s room becoming _their _room is that Dean can’t exactly bring people up or engage in any self-love in here, and while he hasn’t _felt _like it’s a problem, maybe the weird sex dreams about Cas are his instincts’ way of rebelling against all the accidental celibacy, like some kind of desperate, sub-conscious cry for help.

Maybe Dean really _is _overreacting. Maybe all he needs to do is visit a tavern and smolder at the right barperson and voila, no more perving on his best friend or tentatively trying to spin things so that it’s not _really _perving, because okay, Cas is young, but he’s also . . . Cas.

And maybe Dean’s a fucking idiot, and he should just read his damn porn before he confuses himself even more.

“What’s wrong?” Cas asks, tucking a finger between the pages and leaning over before Dean can refocus enough to shut the drawer. “Oh. Sorry — is it in the way?”

“Uh. I — I mean — I — no? But — it — probably isn’t the best place for it.”

Cas eyes it, and Dean swears he looks regretful.

“I suppose there’s no point keeping it there now that you’re home.”

Dean tries — and probably fails — not to look alarmed.

“Uh. What, now?”

Cas shrugs, settling back against his pillow, although he finally has the grace to look a little embarrassed.

“I won’t have time to myself in the barracks, either, so it won’t be useful to me until my next heat,” and yeah, he sounds _sad._

He also sounds like he’s saying he’d use it _outside _of his heat, which maybe shouldn’t be a surprise, given the porn, but come _on. _They spend practically every minute of every day together, when there isn’t some weird crisis pulling them apart. Since _Dean’s_ not really getting off, he would have assumed Cas wasn’t either.

Except if Dean’s following right, not only did Cas spend his heats in here while Dean was away, he also —

“What do you do?” Cas asks suddenly, though he doesn’t look at Dean. “I think my barrack-mates just . . . sneak off to the bathhouse during off hours, but — um. Do you?”

Dean gapes at him.

“Or — do you have enough, um, company, that you don’t have to?”

“Jesus,” Dean mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Whatever happened to — what did you call it? — the way lesser men dealt with erections?”

When he looks back up, Cas is a little red.

“I didn’t understand, before.”

“Well, ‘understanding’ is a private thing, Cas. You don’t _ask _about it.”

Cas hesitates.

“Like porn.”

“Exactly.”

“But you bought me porn. And you looked under my mattress.”

“I — that’s different.”

Cas squints.

“How?”

“It just is.”

He nods slowly.

“Alright. Well — this is different, too. I don’t think I’d feel comfortable asking Sam or Meg any of this.”

Well, thank God for small miracles.

“_Still, _just because _you’re _comfortable doesn’t mean _I _am.”

“Why not? I know you’re a, um, a sexual person, Dean. You shouldn’t be ashamed of that, anymore than you think I should be ashamed of my porn,” he adds quietly, and despite the winter chill, Dean is sweating.

“Perfect example, Cas; remember how we still don’t _talk _about it, though?”

“Maybe we should.”

Dean shoves off his blanket, more embarrassed than angry, not that he’s about to admit it.

“Yeah? Well, if we’re talking, what does fighting Benny have to do with your heat?”

Cas looks startled, book slipping out of his hand.

“I — how do you know about that?”

“Drunk-you told me,” Dean mutters, going to the table to pour himself a cup of water. “But apparently it’s a _secret._”

“Uh. Yes. It is.”

He grimaces and takes a gulp of water.

“Okay, then. You keep your secrets and I’ll keep mine.”

Behind him, there’s silence, and then Cas sighs.

“Alright.”

Dean studiously sips at his water until the rustle of pages announces Cas has returned to his book, at which point he deems it safe to return to bed.

And even though he’s a little concerned about the correlation between the porny fantasy novels and his weird dreams, he picks up _Angel’s Grace _and spends the next two hours reading, anyway.

By New Year’s Eve, Dean is having something of a crisis.

He’s had three more wildly inappropriate dreams about Cas, which is terrible on its own, except they’ve been accompanied by equally inappropriate waking thoughts every time Cas so much as breathes funny within a ten foot radius.

The day after Christmas, Dean’s feeling guilty for snapping at him the night before — it’s not Cas’s fault he’s curious and Dean is having a goddamn crisis_ — _so when he wakes up before Cas (who he’s positive stayed up even later), he goes down and collects a breakfast tray. He’s pretty sure if Cas is at all upset from last night, the chance to stay in bed and eat while he reads will probably fix it.

And it does, kind of, except Cas is so pleased with Dean he positively reeks of contentedness, a fact Dean is very aware of because he props himself up against Dean’s shoulder and opts to drink some of Dean’s coffee every time Dean takes a sip, instead of having to reach for his own. A week prior, Dean wouldn’t have batted an eye, but now he’s uncomfortably aware of how Cas’s eyelashes look from this angle and how nice he smells even though they’re both due for a bath this morning and how one time, Dean accidentally glances down and catches the words on Cas’s current page and wow, okay, looks like the princess is enjoying captivity after all.

But Cas looks and smells totally unaffected, calmly nibbling at a piece of cucumber toast, and he’s turned three fucking pages before Dean realizes he’s just _staring _at Cas.

As for how awkward bath time suddenly is — Dean doesn’t even know where to start.

Tuesday, they go back to training, which should be a nice, healthy reprieve from guilty almost-fantasies about Cas, and it _is — _until it comes time to meet everybody in the courtyard for auxiliary training. As always, he mostly pairs off with Cas, but unlike always, he’s hyper-aware of how warm and solid and nice-smelling Cas is, and how when Cas smiles, Dean’s stomach does a bizarrely not unpleasant swoopy thing (the most horrifying part of which is the fact that it doesn’t actually feel _unfamiliar__)__._

So yeah, another thing Dean’s just — not touching, right now.

Wednesday’s automatically shitty, since Dean wakes up and Cas isn’t in the room, which is bad because a) Dean never likes not knowing where Cas is and b) it occurs to him that if Cas wakes up before Dean — and he usually does — then how does he know he didn’t sleep-molest him again or something? Is that _why _Cas isn’t there? Will Dean go down to breakfast and have the entire goddamn hall shunning him for being a dirty old lech?

(Cas turns out to be in the washroom, perched on the little bench next to a candle while he reads, and is startled to learn it is now, in fact, daylight.)

Of course, because of Cas’s weird new approach to training — which seems to be ‘make it difficult for Dean to train me’ — he spends a lot of the time trying to provoke Dean into dicking around with him (figuratively speaking). Wrestling with Cas now that Dean’s had the kind of dreams he’s had and is definitely noticing — _stuff — _is a hundred times more awkward than it used to be, enough that Cas asks if something’s wrong.

“Just cold,” Dean lies, and Cas gives him a puzzled look that makes Dean’s heart pound for reasons other than his own lying-liarness.

Wednesday night is legitimately freezing, and despite piling on soft blankets and shutting the bed curtains for the first time that winter, Dean still wakes up in the early dawn with Cas plastered against his back, one leg tucked between Dean’s and arms seeking warmth up his shirt. This sort of harassment, Dean feels, would be a legitimate excuse for some bodily confusion, but nope; Dean wakes up feeling embarrassingly content in a totally non-bonery way, which _should _be a relief but isn’t, since it forces him to acknowledge that he’s _always _loved snuggling with Cas, which in turn forces him to wonder why that is.

He tries to reason it away that they’re just really close, and he’s an alpha and Cas is small and cute which triggers all kinds of caretaking domestic instinct — it’s biology! - but Cas is not small, maybe hasn’t been for a while, and the moment Dean craftily tries to apply some kind of ‘little brother’ label to him, his brain spits the thought back out like it’s rotten.

If Dean’s ever thought of Cas in brotherly terms, little or otherwise, it was long enough ago he can’t remember. And doesn’t _that _thought give him pause; after all, why wouldn’t he? It’s obvious what Cas should be to him, and yet Cas _isn’t._ Has Dean _always _been low-key creeping? Is this some sneaky, convoluted subconscious plot to lure this poor, innocent child into his devious clutches?

Dean doesn’t _think _so. Dean just remembers being fond of Cas, of wanting to be a good friend and whatever-else to him, to helpfully shepherd him into adulthood, which he sort of imagined wouldn’t happen until Cas was like, thirty.

And yet — Cas is definitely not like a little brother to him.

So — what the hell does that make him?

The thought — and Cas’s eyes and tiny smiles and huffy little sarcastic mutterings and stupid shoulders and annoying hipbones — plagues him all through the end of the week, and he feels so weird and out of sorts by the time the party in the hall kicks off that he decides there’s only one thing to do tonight:

Drink every goddamn thing he can get his hands on.

Cas seems to have a similar plan, though when he comes back from doing shots with his barrack-mates, he manages the whole sitting-thing with surprising grace considering how badly he reeks of strong spirits. Dean’s pretty buzzed himself, enough that he doesn’t question the bright feeling that overtakes him when Cas plunks down, just bumps his shoulder and offers him a doughnut.

Cas takes it, and they munch in companionable silence for several minutes.

“Do you know who you’re going to kiss at midnight?” Cas asks, and Dean watches him lick the glaze off his fingers for a few seconds before it processes.

He shrugs, not thinking too hard about the question, not why Cas is asking it or how _Cas _is going to handle it this year; kid always gets a peck from Donna or Pamela, so unless something changed last year, it’ll probably be the same deal.

“Whoever’s closest,” Dean answers honestly, since that’s how it always is. It’s been years since he’s had anything like a steady partner, and the New Year’s kisses are fun _because _they don’t mean anything. They’re just a part of the celebration, of having fun with all your friends, saying ‘hey, I’m glad we all made it through another year together.’ Most years, he ends up kissing more than one person, and he’s pretty sure he’s laid one on half the castle at least.

Cas pauses, looking at him for a long moment, eyes bright.

And then he nods.

“Okay.”

Dean hands him another doughnut, and then Jo comes over with the playing cards, and the conversation is forgotten.

But then midnight nears, and even as drunk as he is, Dean’s peripherally aware of the way Cas has been hovering, and once the hall-wide countdown comes to a jubilant close, it becomes clear why.

“_Three! Two! One!” _ everyone yells, and before Dean can even begin to take stock of his surrounds, Cas is _right there, _cheeks pink and blue eyes determined.

“Happy New Year,” he says quietly, and the raucous echo of the same would have drowned it out if he weren’t so close.

And then he slides a palm across the back of Dean’s neck and a moment later, soft, dry lips touch his own.

Dean doesn’t even remember closing his eyes.

And because it’s New Year’s, and Cas is his best friend, and Dean is wasted and — most importantly — it _doesn’t mean anything_, he shoves aside everything else and figures ‘to hell with it.’

And he kisses him right back.

New Year’s, Cas decides, is his new favorite holiday.

And his other new favorite thing? Is kissing Dean.

Cas has kissed Dean twice before, and thought about it many more times than that, but those kisses were not like this kiss is. This kiss is entirely different, surpassing experience and fantasy both, and though Cas has had an extensive number of fantasies and read a number of sordid passages in Crowley’s library, not one of them would have prepared him for this.

Because right now, Cas is not just kissing Dean; Dean is kissing him _back. _And that — that is the missing element to all theory, the practical knowledge of what it means to have Dean’s mouth move hotly over his, to feel his hands fist in Cas’s tunic, to have sparks dance through what must be every nerve in his body despite the small area of connection.

Cas isn’t expecting it. The one hand on Dean’s neck becomes two on his shoulders, seizing them just so he can stay upright, and he thinks he makes some kind of sound but the hall is too loud and the blood is rushing in his ears and Dean’s arm circles his waist, helping to hold him up, and as soon as he opens his mouth for a breath he doesn’t get, Dean’s tongue is there, brushing against his lips and licking inside. Cas knows a brief moment of apprehension, because he didn’t particularly care for the experience the last time someone put their tongue in his mouth, but it’s gone almost as quickly as it arises, replaced by a host of other implausibly wonderful sensations, the kind that feel like ‘too much’ and ‘not enough’ all at once. Cas kisses back clumsily, eagerly, trying to remember how they do it in novels and unable to focus on a thought long enough to do more than go on instinct.

That’s fine, though; Dean certainly doesn’t seem bothered, kissing him with what feels like just as much enthusiasm, and _oh, _ Cas never wants it to end **—**

“Woo!”

He starts, not from the sound, but from the jarring slap to the back Dean takes, disconnecting their mouths. Dean releases him and Cas stumbles, disoriented by the suddenness of it all and still adjusting to the not-kissing that is, for some bizarre and almost certainly unfair reason, not happening now.

“Midnight’s come an’ gone, Dean! You guys can wait till bedtime, me an’ Walt are gonna try and ride some horses around the castle backwards!”

“What?” Dean blinks at Ash, uncomprehending, and then he scowls. “Damn it, Ash, no! You could hurt the horses!”

Ash is already sprinting away, though, and Dean groans.

“Son of a bitch,” he mutters, and then runs a quick hand through Cas’s hair. “I’m gonna go stop those two dumbasses from killin’ themselves, you go sit with Sam or somethin’, alright?”

Cas nods dumbly, not sure why he needs to go sit with Sam, but happy to oblige. Dean trips off after Ash, clearly determined to prevent any kind of disastrous injury, be it to horse or man.

Cas has to wander around a little in order to locate Sam — he thinks he must have passed him the first time, but his brain feels a thousand miles away — and when he finds him, he appears to be dozing against a wall.

“Did he sleep through midnight?” Cas asks. Valencia nods, but neither she or Bela look away from the chessboard.

“You bet. He didn’t sleep much last night,” she adds, lifting her brows meaningfully. It takes a moment for Cas to understand.

“Oh. The book he started after dinner—”

Valencia looks amused.

“Yes, although you’re no fun at all.”

She says it like he is, actually, so he drops down beside them, leaning back against the wall.

“Who did you kiss, then?”

She smirks.

“Don’t tell your sister.”

“I was told it was tradition,” Bela mutters. “And you serve a thing called ‘butterscotch schnapps’ here.”

“It’s alright, Bela,” Cas assures her, absentmindedly placing a hand over his heart. It’s still racing. “Kissing is very nice. I don’t think she would begrudge you.”

“Ah, yes, I saw your little liplock with the Prince. It’s quite nice to be out of Eden, isn’t it?”

Cas can’t even bring himself to blush.

“It’s tradition,” he reminds her. “And what does leaving Eden have to do with it?”

“First of all, Castiel, I may be new to the custom, but I imagine it ceases to be tradition around the time _tongues _ are introduced. Second, you’d send half your sister’s castle into apoplexy if they saw such a thing. Not that the two of you weren’t _obvious, _anyway.”

Cas looks at her curiously.

“What is it, then? If — tongues — are involved?”

“An excuse to make out, I imagine. I applaud your initiative. Check.”

Valencia hums, scooting a knight around a cluster of other pieces, and Bela sighs.

“Rats.” She considers the board carefully. “Has the King decided you’ll remarry, then?”

He blinks, confused.

“Uh. Hasn’t he?”

“I assume you would know.”

“I . . . I thought so,” he says, suddenly very conscious of Valencia watching him. “I — I thought — when Dean said we were coming home, it seemed like . . . won’t we?”

Bela’s no longer looking at the board either, regarding him with cautious eyes.

“That hadn’t been established before we left Eden, as far as I know,” she says slowly. “But negotiations are not complete. If Dean told you that was the plan, I’m sure it is.”

He opens his mouth, then shuts it.

“I — he — I don’t remember.” And he doesn’t, but the more he thinks about it, the more he remembers Lady Eleanor and other members of the court saying things.

Never Dean, though.

Bela hastily reaches over, patting his leg.

“I’m sure it will be fine. Right, Valencia?”

Valencia looks at her incredulously.

“I’m sure some things will be fine, yes. I don’t know enough to say about other things, though.”

Bela huffs.

“I’m trying to be _reassuring._”

“And you’re doing great.”

“Castiel,” Bela grumbles. “If you’re worried, ask Dean about it. He’s terribly fond of you — he went all the way to Hellenia, and then to Eden, and I can say from personal experience that there’s really no reason good enough to do such a thing — so he must have felt you were a _nearly_ good enough reason, at least. I’m quite sure you’ll work it out.”

“Huh,” Valencia murmurs, and Bela shoots her a dirty look.

“At any rate, chess is a ridiculous little game, I think, so why don’t you join us for some cards?”

Reluctantly, Cas scoots closer and agrees to participate in a few rounds of Go Fish while they wait to hear what happened to the horses.

He’s a little worried now, but he decides not to ask Dean about it tonight.

Because tonight, they’re celebrating the New Year, the fact that everyone is home and Eden is at peace, and in light of that —

He’s hoping he can talk Dean into more kisses.

Dean wakes with a massive headache and disturbingly sore back, although he cannot, for the life of him, think of why it would be.

To be fair, though, he only considers this for about a minute before fuzzy memories from last night start falling out, at which point he realizes he kissed Cas.

Which, okay, Dean’s kissed tons of people on New Years Eve; it’s not a big deal.

Except unless what Dean’s remembering right now is a dream, Cas tugged him into his lap to play Go Fish — again, something that could still be filed under ‘platonic drunken shenanigans’ — and then made him dance — still good — and then Ash was trading his spiked pearl inlay barrette for one of Cas’s grey dresses — weird as hell, but fine — _and then _—

And then Dean haphazardly set up their bedroll underneath a table, stole one of Charlie’s pillows, got into a mild scuffle when she came to retrieve it, and went to bed with Cas.

Which wouldn’t be terrible, except he’s pretty sure he remembers Cas crawling in and immediately planting a messy, off-center kiss on him, after which Dean helpfully steadied him.

You know, with his mouth. Until they fell asleep.

Dean shoots upright, and thumps his head on the underside of the table in the process.

“_Son of a bitch_!” he swears, clutching his doubly-aching head, and beside him, Cas stirs.

“Are we being attacked?” he mumbles, not opening his eyes, and Dean winces.

“Uh, no. Nope, no, we’re good, buddy.”

Cas rolls over and goes back to sleep, and Dean hastily climbs out of the bedroll, knee-walking a dozen feet down to where Charlie is slumbering away, sprawled between Jo and Benny and snoring like a bear.

She sounds like she has a cold, actually, which is almost enough to make Dean feel bad about waking her.

Almost.

“Charlie!” he hisses, and when the snoring continues, he reaches out and shakes her. “_Charlie_!”

“Wha-bu-wuh?” She startles, blinking. “Dean? Are we being attacked?”

“What? No! Dude, the castle hasn’t been attacked in like, twenty years.”

She nods, eyes half-lidded.

“’Kay. Cool. Why’m I awake?”

“I — uh. I . . . I have a problem.”

“Oh.” Her eyes drift shut, and he pokes her again.

“Hmm? Sorry. Sleep.”

“Yeah, I know, I’m sorry, I just — I really need to talk to you. ‘Bout a thing.”

Charlie stares hazily somewhere beyond him for a few seconds, then sighs and sits up, rubbing her eyes.

He waits patiently, and once she’s standing, leads her upstairs, where she promptly climbs into the bed and burrows.

“Okie dokie,” she mumbles. “Shoot.”

Dean perches on the edge, rubbing his neck uncertainly. He has no idea where to start.

“I kissed Cas last night,” he blurts.

Charlie doesn’t even open her eyes.

“Okay, good for you.”

“Charlie.”

‘What?”

“I — I mean I _kissed _him. Like, for New Year’s, yeah, but — but then I _kissed _him.”

She just cracks one eye open, annoyed.

“I repeat; why am I awake?”

Dean glares, impatient and anxious and still really, really hungover.

“Because I kind of wanna bone my husband, that’s why!”

There’s a long silence.

“Ex-husband,” he amends, although it sounds weird to him.

Charlie must think so, too, because she makes a face.

“Dude, haven’t you?”

“Haven’t I _what_?”

“Boned your husband. What a romantic, by the way.”

Dean just gapes.

“I — I — no! God, no! He’s still a kid!”

Charlie sits up a little, although she looks more surprised than anything.

“Umm. He’s really not. Also, _seriously_? We’ve all been assuming—”

“No!” he repeats, hoarse. “No! And — and who is ‘we all’? Everyone seriously thought I — that I’d do that?”

Puzzled, Charlie brushes her hair out of her face, shimmying up the pillow.

“You make it sound like you did kinky things with an orc or something. Seriously, what’s your damage, Dean? Even if you haven’t been — which, holy mackerel — it’s not a big deal if you do now.”

“Charlie, how can you _say _that? This is — shit, it’s a million times worse than fucking an orc—”

“I said _kinky_ things, Dean—”

“Because Cas is just a _kid._”

She purses her lips.

“Except he’s, you know, not? Like, I thought you were there when he fought Benny.”

“So his training paid off, it doesn’t have a damn thing to do with — with _maturity._”

“Fair. But — I mean, don’t get me wrong, he’s still a cutie, but dude, he’s grown up a lot. And you’ve been in love with him for years, so — unless you wanna wait till he’s going grey, what’s the big crisis?”

Dean stares at her, dry-mouthed and frantically trying to compose some legitimate denial, because yeah, he loves Cas, practically always has and definitely always will —

But he’s not _in _love with Cas, and he certainly hasn’t been for _years, _because that would mean Dean’s an even worse person than he thought.

The words won’t come, though, and Charlie’s expression grows rapidly more concerned until finally, Dean slumps against the bedpost, bones weak.

“I — I didn’t,” he starts, stricken. “I swear, I never looked at him like that. I didn’t, not once. You gotta believe me, Charlie, I’m not — I wouldn’t.”

She gives him a blank look, and then a moment later frowns, though her eyes are soft.

“Dude. That’s not what I meant. You know there’s a difference between love and lust, right?”

“I — yeah? But I—”

“Dean, I see you guys every day. We all do. I know you weren’t like, creeping on him when he was fifteen. But Cas is Cas, and he’s been Cas for a lot longer than he’s been kind of grown up, and — you love Cas. Simple as that.” She bites her lip. “You really didn’t know?”

He shakes his head.

“No. No, I just — I just thought — he’s family, right? That’s all. That was supposed to be all.”

“Oh.” She clears her throat. “Well. I mean, I’m no expert, but, um. I don’t think it is.”

“Yeah, I got that, Charlie,” he mumbles, and she leans forward, awkwardly patting his shoulder.

“Well, now you know. And you definitely shouldn’t feel bad about the other thing. Cas is pretty dreamy. If I batted for your team and he walked around looking at me the way he looks at you, I sure as heck wouldn’t be able to resist.” She lifts her brows. “Totally surprised you have, by the way.”

For the third time that morning, Dean’s heart stutters to a brief halt inside his chest.

“What? The way he — what do you mean, the way he looks at me?”

Her brows climb even higher.

“Uh. I mean Cas is definitely in love with you and almost-definitely wants to have sexy times with you. Surely you at least knew _that!_”

“No! No, I didn’t! Charlie, I’m still getting used to the fact that he reads lesbian porn, never mind thinking about him wanting to actually _do _that kind of stuff!”

She blinks.

“He reads lesbian porn?”

“Yeah. Even tries to say it’s not porn, that he reads it for the story, yada yada.”

“It can be both,” she protests, and Dean rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, well, it doesn’t matter either way, and — and honestly? I think you’re wrong. I mean, shit, I’ve gotta be like an old man to Ca—_ow_!” he snarls, clutching his head. “What the hell, Charlie? I already have a goddamn bruise there, I don’t need another one!”

“You’re _ twenty-six, _ you dumbass. And you’re also pretty dreamy yourself. Cas didn’t really stand a chance.”

Despite himself, he can feel his cheeks heat.

“I really don’t think—”

“Obviously you’re an idiot, so let’s not even go down that road.”

“_Charlie_.”

“_Dean_. He’s kind of obvious. Everybody thinks you guys are adorable. And gross. But! Also adorable.”

And Dean wants to argue some more, about all of it, but it’s like more than just the drunken escapades of last night are surging to the forefront; Dean’s thinking about the last couple of years, about Cas’s increasing persistence in trying to help with Dean’s rut, his determination to share Dean’s room in Eden and his appalling lack of awkwardness when it came to all the other, deeply personal things related to it. And then he’s thinking about the little things, the hand-holding and the snuggling and how it felt to say goodbye to Cas before he went to Lettra, how it felt, always wondering, in the back of his mind, if Cas still had feelings for Sam.

How it felt when he thought Cas ran away with somebody else.

And even if that all adds up to _congratulations, you fucking dumbass, you’re in love with your best friend, _that doesn’t mean Cas isn’t still as oblivious to this as he is to everything else.

But then he thinks back to Eden, to the first night of Cas’s heat, when Cas was clinging to him and crying and begging to go home.

When Dean’s rut hit early, and Cas’s came after — what did he say? - _three months. _Cycles that lasted nearly a week.

Because they synced, he thought. Because they spent too much time together, he’d reasoned.

Now, he wonders if he was wrong.

“Fuck. _Fuck, _I think I — I think I triggered Cas’s heat. In Eden.”

“Uh. This isn’t about to get TMI-y, is it?”

“And — and my rut — and I thought we just — but — _fuck._”

“You guys have been synced for a while.”

“Yeah, but we spent a year apart, and that — it wasn’t on time for either one of us.”

“Well — I mean. We all figured you guys had scent-bo—”

“But just because you trigger someone’s heat doesn’t necessarily _mean _anything,” he continues, dismayed. “Even if his, uh, _body_ is reacting to my — my pheromones, or whatever, that doesn’t mean that on a normal day, Cas is interested like that.”

“Well, no, but I’m pretty sure he is.

“Fuck.”

She squints.

“Shouldn’t you be — you know, happy? You love Cas, Cas loves you, you both wanna take a carriage ride to bone-town, crisis averted.”

“What? No! No, crisis is _not _averted, Charlie! Even if all that were true, I can’t — _we _can’t—”

“Dude, why not?”

And even though Dean is sure it’s wrong, knows it in his heart of hearts and gut of guts and all of that, he can’t even begin to explain to Charlie why.

“I just — it just is. There’s — shit, there’s a lot of reasons.”

“Even if twenty is _kind _of young, circumstances are pretty weird.”

Dean hesitates, and then nods forcefully.

“Exactly. _Exactly, _Charlie. It’s not about his age — I mean, it is, but — I — he and I have a pretty messed up situation.”

“Right now, maybe, but you guys are getting married again, aren’t you?”

“What? No? No, especially not now that I know I — that he might — god, no.”

Charlie contemplates him with sleepy confusion for a minute.

“So . . . you’re saying you don’t want to marry him ‘cause you’re in love with each other.”

Dean nods.

“That’s pretty fucked up.”

He huffs.

“Can you blame me?”

“Yes—”

“I mean, it’s one thing if it’s just a — a political thing, neither one of us have a choice there, but — shit, man, if Cas really thinks he’s in love with me — Charlie, there’s no way I can marry him.”

“It’s too damn early for this,” she mutters, pulling the blanket over her head, and Dean sighs.

“Tell me about it.”

Dean is already awake, helping put away bedrolls and sort the tables out for breakfast by the time Cas rouses. His mouth feels a little like he spent the night gnawing on an unwashed tunic, and even the dim hall light is in aggressive excess of what he can handle.

But then he remembers last night, and how he fell asleep, and suddenly he’s not that bothered by Sam gently dragging him out from underneath the table and helping him to a chair.

“Wow, Cas, how much did you drink?” he teases, and Cas just smiles back, leaning heavily on the arm of the chair.

“Enough.”

Sam’s smile turns quizzical, at that, but Cas just smiles wider, undeniably smug as he waits for Dean.

“We should go to the market,” he says instead, glancing toward Valencia only to find she has an eye mask on, head resting against her chair back. He shrugs, focusing his attention on Sam. “Dean went without us last week, but I think I’d still like to buy presents for everyone.”

“Yeah. Maybe if we get a warm day this week, we could go.”

Dean appears, then, dropping into his chair.

“Where are we going?”

“Cas thought we could do our Christmas shopping.”

“Oh. Yeah, I didn’t really get mine done, either.”

Cas, though he’s feeling vaguely shy this morning, can’t help but look up at that.

“But I thought—”

“Just a couple things,” Dean interjects hastily. “Still, uh. Have a lot to do.”

“Oh.”

Cas quiets, guiltily warmed by the thought that his was one of the only gifts Dean bought. He _shouldn’t _be; of course he doesn’t want the others to be deprived of gifts.

Feelings are very complicated things, he’s learned.

“You wanna hit the library today, Cas?” Sam asks, and Cas coughs, turning his attention back to him.

“Yes. If you’re finished with your other series, you can try _Warrior’s Angel_?”

Dean’s head whips around.

“You — Sam can’t read that.”

Cas tilts his head.

“You read it.”

“Because you made me! You don’t just — share your porn, Cas!”

The rules surrounding pornography are nonsensical and exhausting, that much Cas has concluded. He scowls at Dean.

“How many times do I have to tell you—”

“It’s porn, Sam,” Dean insists. “Sex scenes every couple dozen pages, I’m not kidding.”

Sam hesitates.

“Um. Well. A lot of classic literature actually has a pretty high volume of sexual content. That, um, doesn’t always means it detracts from the merit of the rest of the story.”

Cas shoots him an appreciative look, then returns to glaring at Dean.

“Thank you, Sam. And many of those scenes _are _essential to the plot and relationship development, Dean. Did you pay attention _at all_?”

If Cas is being honest, he’s a little hurt. Dean just finished Book Two, and he started _Soul’s Desire _almost right away. He assumed that meant Dean liked them.

“I didn’t say they were _bad,_” Dean protests. “Just — why does Sam need to read them? It’s not like you can really talk about them.”

“Yes, we can. Assuming Sam is able to actually appreciate the story’s complexity,” he adds darkly. “Unlike you.”

Dean’s mouth falls open.

“Dude, I appreciate the shit out of their complexity, okay? I’m reading all three of them!”

“And you still think they’re just porn.”

“I didn’t say they were _ just _porn—”

“Then let Sam read them and shut up, Dean.”

Dean grimaces.

“Fine. Whatever. You two have fun talkin’ about sex.”

Cas doesn’t even know what to say to that. His goodwill from the New Year’s kisses is gone like it was never there to begin with, and it occurs to him to wonder why on earth he ever wanted to kiss Dean in the first place.

“I, um, I’m sure there’s a lot of great plot points and character stuff to talk about,” Sam cuts in, throwing Cas a nervous smile. “I’m really looking forward to it, Cas.”

Dean just huffs, stuffing two pieces of bacon in his mouth at once.

“Yah, Sham,” he says through the bite, then swallows. “I’m sure you’re really looking forward to the _ characters. _”

Cas doesn’t think twice, just elbows Dean in the ribs as soon as he has another bite lined up.

“Dude,” he sputters. Cas ignores him.

“So how did your series end, Sam? Should I read it?”

It’s as if Dean sulks all through the rest of breakfast, and for the life of him, Cas can’t understand it.

It serves him right, though.

“I don’t think Cas is in love with me,” Dean grumbles to Charlie later, and she groans.

“Damn. I was hoping that was just a really weird dream.” She sighs. “Okay, Dean, why do you think Cas isn’t in love with you?”

Dean shrugs.

“He doesn’t act like he’s in love with me.”

“I’m sorry, what? He _ always _acts like he’s in love with you. Even when you’re being an ass and he’s pissed.”

“I’m never a—”

“Dean.”

“He threw an elbow in my ribs at breakfast this morning, Charlie! He’s not fourteen anymore, that shit _ hurts. _”

Charlie looks unconcerned.

“Quit being a baby, Dean. I bet they’re just bruised.”

They actually aren’t, not really, but it hurt _ at the time. _And his last piece of bacon fell on the floor.

Like, he dusted it off and ate it anyway, but—

“_Still. _”

“Anyway, what’d do you do to provoke him?”

“Nothing!”

Charlie just looks at him.

“Fine,” he sighs. “We got into it over his lesbian porn.”

“What’s your deal with his porn, anyway? You’re gonna give him a complex.”

“I am not! I even had a talk with him about how the porn and the heat aid and stuff was all normal and fine and he shouldn’t be embarrassed,” he says, defensive, and Charlie gives him a weird look.

“Like, I want to know, but I also don’t.”

Dean sighs.

“I told you, Cas is still a kid. He, uh. Figured some stuff out while I was gone.” Dean frowns. “Actually — you know what he said to me, about the porn?”

She raises a brow.

“Do I _ want _to?”

“Said if it was always like that with girls, he understood why you preferred ladies.” Dean frowns harder. “Which is just proof you’re wrong, you know. I think if Cas wants to get down and dirty with anyone, it’ll be a chick.”

“Mhm. So he’s still a _ kid_, yet you say that like you just ate sour grapes.”

“Shut up. Weren’t you telling me there’s a difference between love and lust?”

“Yeeeah, and you told me you wanna bone your husband. You can’t win here, Dean.”

He grimaces, burying his face in his hands.

“I don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t wanna . . . do that. I just — think about it, sometimes, lately. But I wouldn’t _ do _it.”

“If you did, I think it’d be okay.”

“I don’t.”

She tilts her head, then crouches next to him.

“Okay. Now that I’m actually awake. What were you trying to say, this morning? Why do you feel like — yours and Cas’s feelings are bad?”

“Still think you’re wrong about the feelings,” he mumbles, and she nudges him.

“Agree to disagree. Why would it be so wrong if he did?”

“’Cause.” Dean shrugs, not looking at her. “Think about it. We’ve been married since he was a little kid.”

“Okay?”

“And for just as long, everybody’s been tellin’ him he can’t — play around, like other kids his age. ‘Cause someday, he’s gotta give me heirs.”

“Oh. Well. Okay, yeah, that sucks, but it doesn’t ch—”

“And — everybody thinks we’ve already been — doing stuff. You knew I — uh. Felt stuff. How’d you know that?”

Charlie hesitates, in that careful way that tells him she has an answer and is trying to decide best how to deliver it.

Eventually, she takes a breath.

“You treat him like your mate,” she declares bluntly, and — yeah, no, Dean wasn’t expecting that.

“I — what?”

She shrugs, awkward.

“You do. Hell, you guys could show up with fresh bites one morning and nobody’d bat an eye. Well, except to tease you,” she amends, smirking, but it fades once she sees Dean’s face. “Dean?”

“I don’t — I just — I treat him like Cas.”

“Okay. Sure. But maybe some part of you also thinks of him as Cas: your mate? I mean — let’s face it, Dean. You touch him every chance you get, and not just normal touching, you — you scent-mark him. Cas hardly ever smells like himself when you’re around, and honestly, you’re not much better.”

“I — I’m being _ affectionate. _I don’t want him to feel unloved.”

She blinks.

“That’s . . . actually really sweet. But also kinda mate-y.”

“No, it was — it — I just—”

“You just what? Forget what personal space is with all your friends?”

“What? No! But Cas is — he’s not _ just _a friend, he’s — I’m supposed to take care of him.”

“Because you love him.”

“Yeah — I mean, maybe, but — he’s also family.”

“But you don’t constantly hold Sam’s hand.”

“Sam doesn’t want me to.”

“And Cas does?”

“I — I think? I’m pretty sure. He — he likes contact. It, uh. I think it’s comforting to him.”

“Like it isn’t to you,” she mutters, and then sighs. “Anyway — the fact that you wanna hold his hand and he wants to hold yours doesn’t sound kinda mate-y to you?”

Dean hesitates.

“It — I. I always did it ‘cause - ‘cause he’s a kid, and I thought kids needed that. And then Sam broke his heart and I just wanted him to know I was there for him—”

Charlie holds up a hand.

“Wait, what? When _ Sam _broke his heart?”

“Yeah. He, uh. Sam was his first love. But, you know. Bobby and I had to tell him it wasn’t gonna work out.”

“Uh, when the hell was this? Cas has always loved _ you. _”

Dean’s not gonna look too closely about how hearing that makes him feel, if only because Charlie’s wrong, and if Charlie didn’t notice _ that — _well, she’s probably wrong now, too.

“Few years back.”

“You’re _ sure _?”

“Kid told me himself. Moped about it. I think that’s when we started getting so . . . touchy-feely, I guess. I was just — or I thought I was just — trying to . . . give him what he needed.”

“That makes no sense.”

“Hey, I did my be—”

“Not _ that, _the Sam-thing!” she huffs.

“See?” he points out. “’S’why I think you gotta be wrong, here. Cas doesn’t feel like that. I’m just — a safe older brother to him.” He barks a laugh. “One that’s been — shit, practically _brainwashing _him for years. It’s a damn good thing he doesn’t love me like that, Charlie, or else that’d make me a — a _ monster. _ It’s bad enough Michael sold him off to us, but then I went and — and I had him sleeping in my _ bed, _ training him to let me — to let me _ touch him, _telling him he wasn’t allowed to fall in love or be interested in sex and stuff unless it was with me.”

Charlie looks grossed out, which is good. Maybe she’s finally getting it.

“Somehow I doubt you told him that, but ew.”

“Well, I as good as told him that. We _ all _did. All because a couple of jackass Kings couldn’t give two shits about an innocent little kid.”

She frowns.

“Dude, it sounds like you’re saying you wish they hadn’t, which — that’s bullshit. Cas loves it here, it’s his home.”

“Didn’t really get a say, did he?”

She shoves him over.

“_Dude. _ He’s an _ omega. _You saw how it was for omegas in Eden! I swear to God, Dean, if anybody tried to send me to bonnet-hell, they’d never be heard from again.”

And yeah, okay, Dean can’t argue with that, but —

“Then he should get to stay here on his own terms! You’re right, this _ is _his home, and he shouldn’t have to feel like it and me are a package deal!”

She just looks at him.

“He doesn’t feel like that.”

“How could he _ not _?”

“Gee, I don’t know, maybe because he’s been your best friend for almost _ seven years_? By which I mean he _ knows _ you, and he _ likes _you, dumb political circumstances notwithstanding?”

“Charlie. You can’t just pretend like they don’t exist.”

“And you can’t try and say your friendship with Cas is fake!”

“I’m _ not,_” he bites out. “I’m saying that anything else is — well, it’s out of the question!”

She purses her lips, glaring at him.

“If you break his heart, everyone’s gonna be pissed at you. You know that, right? You can’t just enact your asinine Dean-drama at Cas’s expense and expect the rest of us to play nice.”

He throws up his hands.

“I don’t want this! I don’t want to look at him like that, I don’t want to feel the way you think I do, and I sure as hell don’t want to act on either one! And not acting on it? That’s not drama, you asshole, that’s me doing what’s best for Cas, which I’d think anybody who cared about him at all could appreciate.”

She covers her face with a palm.

“Dean—” she starts, but he just shakes his head and stands.

“Thanks for talkin’ me through it, Charlie. I really do appreciate it. But you’re right; Cas is _my_ best friend. And I think I know him — what’s _best _for him — better than you.”

“You’re a child!” she yells after him, but he keeps on walking.

Charlie’s got no fucking clue what she’s talking about.

The worst part is, Dean’s good intentions don’t matter. Not enough, anyway.

He still goes to collect Cas from the library later — which, why? Cas can come to bed on his own. In fact, Cas should _ probably _ go back to sleeping in the barracks every night, but Dean doesn’t even know how to broach that topic, especially when he doesn’t really _ want _ to — and he still walks in and looks at Cas, huddled under a blanket on the sofa with Sam and practically glowing in the firelight, and he still notices that Cas is maybe-kind-of beautiful. He still remembers last night, drunk as he was, Cas’s mouth both soft and insistent against his own, the way holding him felt nice and new and familiar in all the best ways, and how even though Cas had clearly never done that before and Dean was a little too drunk to give his best showing, either, it’s still one of the nicest kisses he can remember having. Maybe even the _ nicest. _

He still stands there for God-knows-how-long, watching him read, unable to suppress a smile when Cas’s brow furrows and he unconsciously grabs Sam’s sleeve as he peers at the page more closely. For all Dean knows, he’s reading a sex scene, but it’s still adorable, especially since Sam’s lack of reaction just makes it clear this is business as usual for their reading sessions.

“Betcha missed him a lot while you were away, huh,” Donna says, startling him.

“Uh. Yeah.”

She smirks, knowing but not unkind, and Dean has the uncomfortable feeling that this is not the first time someone’s looked at him like that when talking about Cas.

He’s a fucking moron.

“Well, good for you for bringin’ him back. Castle wasn’t the same without him. And don’t even get me started on how that brother of yours moped around, not that anyone could blame him.”

“Yeah. They’re, uh. They’re really close, aren’t they?”

Donna blinks at him, then thwacks his shoulder, incredulous.

“Oh, tell me you’re not worried about _ that_! There’s no amount of time you could have been gone for that to happen.”

“What? No, of course not.” Certainly not with Val still in the picture. Besides, Dean is pretty sure Cas is over Sam. Mostly, anyway. “Just . . . glad everybody made it back in one piece.”

She softens.

“Aren’t we all.” She pats his arm. “Alright, go get your husband and get to bed. I heard you might be going to the market tomorrow.”

“Uh, yeah, maybe. Never did buy any Christmas presents.”

“Except Cas’s,” she says slyly, and Dean turns red.

“Damn it, he’s gotta stop showing people his porn.”

If anything, Donna looks offended.

“What’s this about porn? _ The Captive _ trilogy is darned good! Maybe not _ quite _ as romantic as _ Warrior’s Angel, _but it’s still worth a couple rereads!”

Dean . . . has no idea what to say to that.

It’s not that he hasn’t noticed any romance _ at all; _it’s just that some pretty hardcore sex usually follows and it makes him feel skeevy for noticing. Ariel’s obliviousness and naivete gets played for comic relief, but as cute as it is, it mostly just reminds Dean that they’re not really on level, are they?

“Besides, nobody writes better smut,” Donna continues, and Dean gulps.

And fine, maybe he’s noticed that, too. In fact, maybe that’s why the other stuff is going over his head. If he’s being really honest, the sex scenes are _ super _ hot, and if he’s going for broke and being _ totally _honest, the emotional intensity bleeding through from the rest of their dynamic is a huge part of what makes them so.

Which of course just makes him feel even more uncomfortable, because he _ should _ be too full of ethical disapproval to get anything out of it, and _ yet. _

Then again, Dean can’t really pretend he doesn’t get it up for the inappropriate and grossly taboo anymore, can he?

Donna pats his shoulder.

“I’m sure the real thing is still better,” she says kindly, and gives him a nudge before he can even begin to process what she means by that. “Well, go on, then. Night’s not getting any younger.”

“Right,” he mumbles, shuffling forward. Honesty is not the best policy, he’s learned. Not-thinking-about-it is.

Cas takes a deep breath, then turns, smile bright, when Dean’s just a few feet away.

“Hello, Dean. “

“You and Sam done with book club?”

Cas reluctantly closes the volume.

“For now.” He gives Sam a sidelong glance. “How is it so far?”

Sam finally looks up.

“Actually, really good. The emotional tension is incredible.”

Cas tilts his head, giving Dean a darkly satisfied look.

“The _ emotional _tension,” he repeats, nodding. “I wholeheartedly agree.”

Dean rolls his eyes, fighting the urge to rub the back of his neck where it’s warming. Cas is being a smug little brat, right now. Trying to superimpose a different context onto that look just makes Dean an overly imaginative creep.

Incidentally, shame and self-recrimination are pretty flimsy defenses against your own perversion. Who the hell knew?

“Yeah, yeah,” he mumbles. “It’s a masterpiece of literature, alright? Now come take a bath and go to sleep.”

Cas sighs.

“Fine. Sam, are you coming with us?”

Sam shakes his head, holding up the book.

“Nah. I’ll grab one in the morning, I think I’d rather read for a bit before bed.”

“Me, too,” Cas mutters, and Dean snorts, instinctively reaching out to muss his hair.

“If you had your way, they’d be able to use this to oil the damn gate.”

Cas shakes him off with a growl.

“_Dean. _”

Dean withdraws his hand, smirking.

“C’mon. You gonna make me eat my words, or not?”

“If some amount of bathing would get you to finally stop teasing me about it, I’d be the cleanest person in Lawrence.”

Dean just chuckles, letting Cas use his shoulder for gratuitous stability as he stands and climbs over the sofa.

“Hey, a guy can dream.” Cas pauses, shaking out his skirt, and Dean lifts his brows. “Thought you wanted a blue one.”

“Yes, but blue robes don’t help me until I actually _ own _them.” He hesitates. “It’s not as bad as the lavender one, but I’m aware it still doesn’t look very nice.”

Dean blinks.

“Uh. I mean. It looks . . . fine.”

Cas’s face falls, and Sam lets out a loud, forceful cough.

“I think it looks great. It’s kind of a, um, a steel grey, you know? It looks badass.”

Cas cheers a little, though his eyes flick back to Dean, and Dean swears he looks a little disappointed.

“Thank you, Sam. Though I think the color would look better on you, to be honest.”

Dean, eager to assuage his own discomfort, smirks at Sam, waiting for the inevitably awkward evasive maneuver which is sure to follow.

Instead, Sam nods thoughtfully.

“I don’t know about that, but I can tell I have crazy pressure marks from my pants,” he says, like he’s seriously thinking about — “Maybe I’ll visit the tailor with you.”

Dean’s smirk slides off his face.

“You should,” Cas agrees, fingering the sleeve of his dress. “I wonder if they can adjust this for you, somehow.”

Sam has the grace to look apologetic.

“Probably not. That’d be, um, a little more than letting out the seams will achieve.”

Cas purses his lips.

“I’m done growing, aren’t I?”

Sam shrugs, rubbing his neck.

“I mean. You never know.”

“That’s a yes.” Cas shakes his head. “Very well. I suppose we’d better let Donna close the library.”

Sam gets up, stretching.

“Yeah. I’ll walk with you guys.”

The three of them say good night to Donna and make their way out of the library, Dean trying not to picture Sam in a dress and failing, at which point he’s forced to realize it’s not actually going to look that weird.

Which kind of makes sense; Cas actually looks pretty good in dresses, now that Dean’s so used to seeing him in them, and Dean suspects this is because Cas is a good-looking person. Sam’s not horrible — he’s Dean’s brother, after all — so the same rule probably applies.

Hell, _Dean_ probably wouldn’t look bad, either, but while his Dad probably won’t bat an eye at an omega dude running around in a skirt, he’d have shit to say to Dean.

Dean makes a mental a note to warn Sam to keep his dress-wearing out of Dad’s sight.

Sam walks with them all the way to their room, even though his was at the beginning of the corridor, and then gives Dean a brief one-armed hug. Alarmed, Dean goes tense, about to question it, but then Sam pauses at his ear and hisses: “Tell him he looks nice, you ass,” and then withdraws, offering a proper hug to Cas.

“’Night guys!” he says cheerfully, then wanders back down the hallway. Dean follows Cas inside the room.

“Sam doesn’t usually hug us good night,” Cas remarks. “He must be in a very good mood.” There’s a pause. “Of course, he started an _ excellent _ book, which would explain it.”

Dean sighs.

“I’m sorry I called your books porn.”

“No, you aren’t,” Cas says almost immediately. “That’s fine.” It’s so clearly not. “It’s your loss, anyway.”

Dean sighs.

“Look, I feel weird about the situation, so the rest of it makes me uncomfortable. But pretending it’s not fucked up — it is, uh. Sweet. Really sweet.”

Cas gives him a suspicious look.

“Sam told you to say that, didn’t he?” He shakes his head. “You’re allowed to have opinions, Dean.”

“And I’m being honest, man. It’s a good story. The plot with the Southern invaders is actually pretty neat, with all the demon stuff.”

Cas unbends a little, though he gives Dean a mildly anxious look.

“Don’t spoil it for Sam,” he cautions.

“I won’t. That’d be shitty, since — you know. It is really good.”

Cas studies him for a moment, then his eyes go soft.

“Thank you for saying so, Dean. It — I don’t know why, but it means a lot.”

Dean swallows. He’s not sure if he wants Cas to stop looking at him like that or do it forever.

“Your dress looks great,” he says abruptly, and Cas looks shocked. “I — I mean — I — you know, definitely, uh, get the blue one, ‘cause — well, you know, we talked about that, but — this one’s good, too. They’re, uh. They’re all good. ‘Cause - ‘cause they’re on you. And you’re — you know. Good-looking, or whatever.”

Cas stares at him, eyes wide, and _ fuck you, Sam, _ Dean wants to melt into the floor. Given where his thoughts have been headed, telling Cas he’s _ good-looking — _ which, understatement, and Dean’s not even being creepy, there, because everyone says so — is the _ last _thing he should be doing, and obviously Cas agrees.

Except as the seconds tick by, Cas . . . starts turning red. And then after what feels like ten minutes but was probably less than one, he swallows.

And then he tentatively steps forward, Dean just standing there like a dumbass.

“Without flowers. Or blue dresses,” he prompts, and Dean has no idea what the hell he’s asking, isn’t sure how, after his nightmare crisis, he came to be standing inches apart from Cas in their room after telling the dude he’s hot.

“Huh?” he says dumbly, and Cas licks his lips. Dean can smell him, this close. Cas smells a little sweeter than usual, light and airy, like maybe he’s especially pleased right now.

“Good-looking. You said I was ‘good-looking.’ You meant — on my own. Not just in things that make me look better.”

“Yeah? I mean — yeah, that — that was the point. That . . . _ you _ make things look good. ‘Cause you do.”

“Oh.” Cas blinks. “Oh. Uh. Thank you, Dean.”

“Sure. Not sayin’ anything that isn’t true.”

Cas just keeps staring at him, and if anything, his blush grows darker.

And then, just as Dean’s about to take a step back and remind him their baths are getting cold, Cas takes a deep breath.

“Do you want to kiss again?”

Dean inhales so fast he almost chokes.

“Uh, um, w-what?” he stammers, and Cas leans forward a little, eyes bright and searching.

“I enjoyed kissing you. On New Years. Do you . . . want to kiss again?”

Dean’s face — scratch that, every square inch of skin on his body — is on fire.

“B-b-baths,” he manages, trying not to hyperventilate, and then he curses himself, because that is _ not _ the right answer, the right answer is _ No, Cas, I don’t want to kiss you, that was a one-time thing and we’re definitely not doing it again and please, for the love of God, don’t ask me. _

Just because that _ looks _ like Cas’s disappointed face doesn’t mean it _ is_.

“Oh. Alright.”

Cas steps back, eyes never leaving Dean’s, and eventually, Dean is the one to break the stare.

“O-okay. Let’s, um, let’s do that, then,” he mumbles, hastily making his way to the bath room.

Cas follows, and they strip down in silence, Dean carefully facing away, because that’s what he does now, not wanting to notice things like the sharp line of Cas’s calf muscles or the smooth dip of his spine or the jut of his hipbones or —

Dean hopes Cas can’t see his hands trembling.

He waits until he hears Cas get in the water, taking a deep breath before he turns.

And then he stops short, because Cas is staring at him, utterly unabashed but for the traces of red in his cheeks. Dean’s whole mouth goes dry, instincts telling him to freeze instead of plunging into the bath, like they _should._

“You’re, um. ‘Good-looking,’ too, Dean,” Cas says, eyes flickering back up to Dean’s face, which — oh, fuck, that means they were looking somewhere else a second ago, and how long has he been _ staring, _and oh, God, what is happening? “Actually — I think you’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever met.”

Dean stares dumbly for a few more seconds, then swallows and wets his lips.

“Uh. Th-thanks.”

Cas nods, finally turning.

“Not saying anything that isn’t true,” he says quietly, and since Dean’s mind is a violent, unhelpful blank, he says nothing, just clumsily slips into the tub.

Later, when they turn out the light, Dean barely remembers bathing at all.

It doesn’t help that Cas slides over, curling around Dean’s back and pressing soft lips to his neck.

“Good night, Dean,” he whispers.

Dean doesn’t have a very good night at all.


	17. Part XVII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: reference to past Dean/others, some potentially problematic thought processes on Cas's part, see end notes for details. Please let me know if I overlooked anything.  
Note: The Calliope referenced in this chapter is unrelated to the one that appears in 10x05.

Cas is awake all of five seconds the next morning before he remembers what happened the night before, and once he does, he’s so overwhelmed by joy he has to take a breath and hide his face in his pillow.

Because Dean — by his own admission — thinks Cas is good-looking.

And of course, he laughs with Cas plenty when they’re together, which is often, which _means_ —

Cas has, at long last, become Dean’s preference.

And even if Dean didn’t accept his offer of more kissing, he didn’t technically _decline__. _Nor did he get upset when Cas kissed his neck before bed, which suggests he’s at least not _opposed._

It’s different, than how they usually are, and though that difference feels natural to Cas, Cas has been thinking about it for a very long time. If this had happened before all of that, if it had happened even a few years ago — Cas doubts he would have been alright with it. Certainly, it would have been an adjustment, maybe even a difficult one.

Given that — Cas is not insensitive enough to forget that Dean probably needs to think about it, too, that he deserves the same benefit of adjustment that Cas has had. Ideally, that would not require quite as much time — Dean’s done this before, with other people, and often, by the sounds of it — but Cas also understands that Dean is used to thinking of him as a child.

Still, New Year’s and last night make Cas think Dean’s already starting to change his mind about that, and if Cas can just challenge Dean and win . . . .

It should be all the reassurance Dean needs, shouldn’t it? He’s already admitted to thinking Cas is good-looking, so if Cas defeats him and he sees Cas as an adult, an _equal — _what’s stopping him from treating Cas like all the other people he finds good-looking and fun?

Nothing, Cas hopes.

In which case — he thinks he’d like to challenge Dean on his birthday.

His motives aren’t _entirely_ pure. Yes, he’d like to — to help Dean celebrate in a special way, because he’s learned that sex is frequently a celebratory activity, but Dean’s birthday is also at the end of January, and historically, Dean’s rut often comes in February (according to everyone else, anyway).

It might not, given what happened in Eden — but if it _does, _Cas doesn’t want Dean spending it alone.

And he definitely doesn’t want Dean spending it with someone else.

Dean’s assorted company has been a peripheral discomfort for a long time, Cas supposes, but it’s never been something he’s _actively_ worried about, and he’s certainly never been opposed to him keeping it.

But then, he’d never really thought about it, either.

Now he knows, though, how nice it is to have Dean there. Now he’s read enough and done enough to himself that he’s almost positive he wants it all with Dean, too.

Except he doesn’t want it with someone who _isn’t_ Dean. And Cas _has_ read enough and listened enough that he understands that that makes him a certain type of person, at least for now, and that there are other types of people, too, and whichever kind you are, it’s okay.

But Cas still hopes Dean is a person like him. That if he can make Dean want all the same things with him that he wants with Dean, Dean will _only _want them with him.

Hoping won’t make it so, though, and a part of him worries.

Good mood a little dampened, Cas rolls into Dean’s spot to wait. It’s disconcerting, that Dean so often wakes before him now, although after Eden, Cas feels considerably less shy about morning situations. Everyone gets them; and even if Dean isn’t (yet) amenable to assistance in either direction, they’ve proven that erection exposure is a perfectly survivable awkwardness.

Erections notwithstanding, Cas doesn’t like waking up alone. Even if he didn’t simply enjoy having a few moments to observe Dean’s sleeping face, he does enjoy exchanging good mornings and lying close before it’s time to get up and prepare for the day ahead. Dean waking up before him seems to mean this brief-but-important ritual falls by the wayside.

Cas sighs, pulling Dean’s pillow into his arms and wrapping around it, breathing in the familiar scent concentrated there. Dean’s side of the bed is cold, and Cas would probably be best-served by dressing and washing up to go to breakfast and then on to their market jaunt. He’s more than happy to wait for Dean, if Dean is indeed coming back, but this is a rare enough occurrence that he really doesn’t know what to expect.

He’s saved from action by the door opening.

“Mornin’, Sunshine,” Dean drawls, backing into the room with a tray. Cas hastily sits up, heart thumping strangely in his chest. ‘Sunshine’ is nice. He’s become very attached to ‘Sweetheart,’ but if he can have both, he’s amenable.

“Good morning, Dean,” he returns. He feels vexingly shy, after last night’s progress. He knows he’s getting ahead of himself, but when Dean glances up at him, he feels self-conscious, wondering what Dean’s seeing — if he’s seeing something different than he saw yesterday, or a week ago, or a month ago, or whatever.

If, whatever he’s seeing, he likes it.

Cas swallows, running a hand through his hair, and Dean carefully approaches the bed and sets down the tray.

“Oatmeal’s a little wet today. Inias graduated in his duties and, uh, he’s figuring it out.”

“I don’t mind,” Cas says, and he honestly doesn’t, though he feels like the words come out awkwardly, anyway.

Dean quirks a brow.

“Everything okay?”

“Um. Yes. Yes, everything is good, Dean.”

“Uh-huh.” Dean studies him another moment, and then drops his gaze, rubbing his neck. “Can I have my spot back, then? And my pillow?”

Cas colors, releasing the pillow and haphazardly fluffing it before he pushes it against the headboard and scoots over.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, and Dean shrugs.

“You sure you’re okay?”

“Yes. Tired.”

“Yeah? You still good to go to the market?”

“Of course. But I did just wake up.”

“Ah.” Dean climbs in, and Cas can’t help himself, instinctively drawing closer.

“Thank you for bringing breakfast,” he says, fiddling with the blanket’s edge.

“Yeah. Sure.” Dean hesitates like he wants to say something more, but then he reaches for a plate and fork instead, handing them to Cas. “Eat up. Lot of walking ahead of us.”

Cas quirks a brow.

“Dean. We regularly spend most of the day training for combat.”

Dean rolls his eyes.

“Eat your damn breakfast.”

Cas obliges, though several more times, he feels Dean’s eyes on him, thinks he tenses in just such a way that he might be about to speak. Each time, Cas wonders what he’ll say, if he’s been thinking about the things Cas thinks about, if maybe he even wants to kiss Cas again this morning.

But Dean stays quiet, and Cas is left to wonder.

“What — what did you think of the scene in the atrium?” Cas blurts out, and Dean unlatches his teeth from a piece of toast, fine little indents left behind.

Dean blinks, opening his mouth, and for one appalled moment, Cas thinks he’s going to ask, _what scene in the atrium_?, in which case he’d have to conclude Dean is literally not paying attention to what he’s reading, in which case Dean is a lost cause and Cas is never sharing books with him again.

But then Dean shoves his toast back into it, looking away with a shrug.

“Uh. Iv fuhv naif.”

Cas squints at him, and he chews, swallowing.

“It was nice?” he says carefully, a clear question, and Cas sighs.

“I meant — what did you think about it — happening? Did you . . . empathize with Ariel?”

Dean looks confused for a second.

“Uh. Empathize how? Like, you asking if I’ve ever been with an alpha in rut?”

Cas starts.

“What? No. No, I’m not — I . . .” Cas swallows. “Have you?”

Dean _said _ he didn’t prefer alphas or women, but that was years ago, and what if — what if some alpha like Diana gave Dean a — a — an _atrium experience, _ and now Dean _does _have a preference for them?

Dean’s brows lift.

“Uh. Uh, that — I mean. ‘S’not important.”

“Dean,” Cas demands, conscious of the fact that he’s prying, but suddenly very desperate to know. If Dean _did _have an atrium experience — well, it doesn’t change Cas’s plans, but he’d be lying if he said it didn’t make him a little more insecure.

“It’s not any of your business, either,” Dean points out, and Cas’s stomach twists unhappily.

He just wants to know what he’s competing with. Is that really so much to ask?

“Anyway,” Dean continues, frowning. “You should know sex with an alpha in rut ain’t all porn cracks it up to be. Most of it, we’re just sad and frustrated.” Dean nods to himself, then freezes. “Not — not that we don’t make it good. It — it’s still good sex. _Really_ good, depending on the alpha!”

Cas narrows his eyes.

“So you _have._”

“What? No, I meant _I_—“ He stops short. “Uh. I . . . God damn it, Cas, why are we talking about my sex life?”

Cas doesn’t have a good answer for that, so he takes a leaf out of Dean’s book and savagely bites into toast.

“So?” he mutters. “Did you empathize with Ariel’s _feelings_?”

Dean still looks uncomfortable, but after a moment, his expression clears.

“Oh. You mean — ‘bout Diana going into town to hire company so she wouldn’t get too rough with Ariel?”

“Yes.”

“Honestly? Diana’s an ass. If she thought the curse really made her ruts that bad, she oughta be locking herself in a room until it’s over. Choosing to risk hurting someone else instead of Ariel doesn’t exactly make her a hero by any means, you know?”

Cas pauses. Dean makes a good point. Cas hadn’t thought of that; the scene was written from Ariel’s point of view, and he’d mostly gotten caught up in their confused feelings of jealousy and hurt, which no less than a dozen pages spent exploring. Now that he does think of it, he thinks Dean is right. After all, Cas is pretty sure that’s what Dean would try to do.

Of course, unlike Ariel, Cas spends day in and day out roughhousing with other people, and while he can’t remember the last time he lost, it doesn’t mean he never gets hurt. In light of that, he wouldn’t let Dean lock himself away to suffer, not when Cas was fairly confident he could endure whatever Dean’s hypothetical curse-rut drove him to do.

Cas thinks back to the scene in the atrium, licking his lips. Diana _was _cursed, but even if it turned out that was simply how Dean was in rut, Cas is notoriously hardy. Objectively speaking, he’s probably the best-equipped to handle Dean out of _anyone_, depending on what kind of ruts Dean has—

“Cas,” Dean chokes out, looking alarmed. “Whatever you’re thinking about, _please_ stop.”

Cas blinks, tugging at his collar a little and banishing thoughts of what might happen to him and Dean in an atrium.

“Uh. Oh. Right. Yes, Diana . . . is flawed. But . . . Ariel wasn’t acting on anyone else’s behalf, either. Locking the two of them in the atrium was a selfish choice. I understand, um, some people are made to . . . feel those things. To want to be selfish with the person they love, like — like that. But not everyone is.”

Dean still looks uncomfortable, making a move to push the blanket off before wincing and drawing his knees up a little.

“Uh. Yeah. Yeah, that’s — you know. Not somethin’ you can really help.”

Cas nods slowly.

“And you, Dean? What kind of person are you?”

Dean looks startled.

“Oh. Uh. I — I, uh. I don’t like to share.” Cas’s heart beats forcefully behind his ribs. “But — you know, not everybody’s the same, and I guess if I really, uh, be-all-end-all loved someone, I’d just . . . I’d probably hate it, but I like to think I’d hate it more if they weren’t as happy as they could be, you know? So I guess I’d try and live with it.”

Cas swallows, a bright, luminescent feeling tingling just under his skin. He wonders if it’s as visible as it feels, if Dean can see it.

“I don’t like to share either,” he manages, and Dean’s eyes soften.

“Yeah, I remember. I know it was, uh, tough on you.”

Startled, Cas draws away a little.

“You remember?” Only after reading the atrium scene did Cas begin to wonder about all the times Dean’s activities made him uncomfortable.

Did _Dean _know?

But if he knew, then wouldn’t that mean he’s known how Cas has felt, all this time? And if he knows _that, _then — then what does it mean? More importantly, what does it mean for the future?

“Yeah,” Dean confirms, reaching for his coffee. “God, honeymoon phase or not, I was pissed as hell at Sa—”

He’s interrupted by a knock on the door, and Cas fights the impulse to throw something right back at it and tell whoever it is to come back later.

“Guys? You gonna be ready to go soon?” Sam calls through the door, and Dean frowns, glancing at a clock.

He swears.

“Damn it, got caught up talking, and — yeah!” he calls back. “We’ll be down in ten, sorry!”

“Okay, see you soon!”

Cas hears Sam retreat, and then Dean is climbing out of bed.

“C’mon, let’s get ready to go,” he says, heading for the bath room.

Thwarted and disgruntled, Cas follows him with a sigh.

It’s a still, sunny day, blue skies endless above them as they walk through the market, and despite the cold and traces of snow on the ground, the market is the busiest Cas has ever seen it. Of course, this is also the largest group he’s ever come here with, so perhaps others had similar plans.

Going to the market with so many other people has a major advantage and disadvantage, however, and they are one and the same.

That is, Dean is in rather high demand.

This means Cas is free to slip away and visit Miss Audrey about the device with the winding key Diana used on Ariel in Book Three. Miss Audrey very regretfully informs him that the device is slightly more complicated to manufacture than many of her other products and tends to sell out promptly, but promises to send him the first one out of her next shipment.

Satisfied, Cas decides to just purchase an unbelievably nice smelling bottle of oil with which he hopes he can convince Dean to give him a massage, for now. He wishes Miss Audrey well and departs, nearly running right into Benny when he turns around.

Benny is carefully inspecting a public wastebasket, cheeks whipped pink by the cold.

“Oh, hello, Benny. Are you here to buy something from Miss Audrey?”

Benny clears his throat.

“Oh, no, not today, cher.”

“Ah. Would you like to visit the silk flower cart with me?”

Benny brightens a little.

“Sure. Was thinkin’ about buyin’ somethin’ for my mama. Though Evie might like a pin for her work smock; your flower girl sell anything like that?”

“Miss Deirdre sells almost everything you can attach a flower to,” he promises, and Benny chuckles, clapping a hand on Cas’s shoulder and steering him away from Miss Audrey’s stall.

He deliberates over the assorted flowers at Miss Deirdre’s stall much longer than Cas; Cas buys a short mantle covered in blue and white flowers, sprigs of blush covered blooms peeking out between them, for himself, and a daisy and carnation hair net for Layla. He picks up a sunny yellow and white rosebud lapel pin for Dean, though he doubts he’ll see it worn unless he pushes.

He waves at Miss Deirdre, leaving her to guide Benny though his purchases, and wanders down a nearby street to an unfamiliar stall where several paintings and small sculptures are on display.

_Fine Art From Across the Lands, _the sign proclaims, and Cas stops in front of a painting of a garden, entranced by the way the sunlight streams through the fruit trees, dappling the ground and catching the water in the fountain. He’s not sure he would be surprised if he took a step forward and found himself there in the garden, himself, it looks so real.

“That’s the royal garden at the castle of the Southern Isles,” the vendor informs him, grinning cheerily. He sounds Lettran, Cas thinks, though it's different from Bela or Crowley's accent. “Beautiful land.”

“Known for their art, of every kind,” Cas muses, transfixed. “Is this from there?”

“That it is, my dear. Painter is a young lady, but she’s already pretty well-known across the continent. Only visited the gardens once, as a child, but all accounts say her memory is astonishingly accurate.”

“I’d like to buy it,” Cas tells him. Hopefully Dean won’t mind trying to find a place for it in his room. Cas is ready to be rid of the watercolor over the fireplace, though the last time he mentioned it, Dean seemed oddly reluctant.

The man lifts a brow.

“Art from the Southern Isles is a fair bit pricier, you know.”

Cas hesitates. He doesn’t know much about financial things.

“Not as much as real estate,” he states firmly, hoping he’s right. If he’s wrong, he’ll have to leave without the painting, after all.

The man just chuckles.

“Wouldn’t know much about real estate, sweetheart, but I don’t doubt you’re right.” Cas tries not to frown. If he thought he didn’t like being called sweetheart when Dean was angry, he _knows_ he doesn’t like being called that by someone who isn’t even Dean. “But you never know, maybe in a hundred years, your grandchildren’ll be able to trade it for a manor or two.”

Cas nods.

“It’s very good, though I’m no judge.”

“Don’t need to be to see the young lady’s got talent.” The man claps his hands together. “Alright. Let’s say . . . . twelve hundred, since the painting suits you,” he adds with a wink.

Cas winces. Limited knowledge or not, that’s a _fortune_ compared to the rest of the things he buys at the market.

Perhaps he should come back with Sam or Dean . . . but what if he sells it to someone else?

“Nine hundred,” he says, trying not to sound uncertain, and the man frowns.

“Twelve hundred is a steal.”

“I hesitate to commit any crimes, but I won’t pay more than a thousand.”

The man huffs.

“Eleven hundred, then.”

“I’m sorry,” Cas says, and he genuinely is. He very much wants the painting, but he doesn’t want anyone to be upset with him. As it is . . .

He nods at the man, who looks very torn.

After a moment, he sighs.

“Fine. A thousand, then. I don’t much like it, but I’ll like it even less if I have to carry it to the next town.” He makes a face. “Problem with expensive things, you know? Worth a lot, but the market’s a fraction of what you’d want it to be.”

“I’m sorry,” Cas says again. Lawrencian vendors will ‘haggle’ a little, if pressed, but generally, things are labeled with prices and that’s about what they cost. He knows things work differently in other places, and that the man could be playing a game with him, right now, but he does feel bad if he’s not paying what it’s worth.

“Eh. It’s not a bad price, for either of us. Might could do better in the next town, but could do worse as well.” He grins, cheeky. “Ought I to wrap it up for you, then?”

“Actually — could you put it on the Castle’s account and deliver it there, please?”

The grin fades, the man’s expression turning appraising.

“And who are you to be spending that kind of money on the Castle’s account?”

Cas blinks.

“Prince Castiel.”

“Think you’ve got the wrong castle, sweetheart.”

He frowns at the man, puzzled.

“I’m Prince Dean’s husband,” he clarifies, and the man’s eyes narrow.

“Listen, _Prince Castiel, _if you even are that. The whole of the continent knows you’re divorced.”

Cas stiffens.

“I — yes, but — that isn’t—” He takes a deep breath, skin prickling with anger and embarrassment both. He doesn’t have to explain himself to this man. “I assure you, I am within my rights to buy the painting. Have it sent to the castle.”

The man shakes his head.

“Does the Prince know you parade around the market, still spending his money like you’ve a right?” He snorts. “Of course, if he hasn’t bothered to marry you again, but he’s brought you all the way back to his castle, anyhow, maybe you do. Still, spoiled mistress or not, that’s too large a sum for me to risk. If your Prince really wants you to have the painting, he can come buy it for you himself.”

Cas stares, uncomprehending and jaw tight.

He is not — he is _not _ Dean’s _mistress, _ and — Dean _will _marry him again, Cas is sure of it, and this man — this insolent, horrible man —

Cas steps closer, and then he moves even _closer, _watching with satisfaction as the ugly smirk fades and the man backs against his stall.

“Whether I am the Prince’s husband or his mistress,” he says coldly. “You have no right to speak to me, or anyone else this way. I see that you are not native to Lawrence. If you do not sell things on account, then say so. Do not insult me.”

The man swallows, though he lifts a chin a little.

“As if _I _were the presumptuous one—”

Cas grips the front of his tunic, narrowing his eyes.

“I will return for my painting. If I find you’ve sold it, you will not like the consequences.”

Before the man can so much as nod in understanding, Cas is suddenly being pulled back, Sam gently nudging in front of him, eyes full of concern.

“Cas? What’s going on here? What have you done?” he adds, addressing the man. Cas doesn’t bother suppressing a sigh at the way the vendor’s brows fly up, shoulders hunching in as he visibly processes Sam’s size.

There is _no _justice.

“Nothing! The omega tried to get me to put his painting on the castle account, even though everyone knows he and the prince have been divorced for months! How can he expect me to take his word for it? If the prince was alright with such a thing, wouldn’t he have remarried him by now?”

The muscle in Sam’s jaw jumps.

“That’s none of your business. And if he wasn’t allowed to buy the painting, the delivery would be rejected, no harm done.”

“Except I couldn’t sell it to anyone else,” the man points out, and Sam purses his lips.

“Fine. Then insist on payment up front. But don’t insult and harass our market goers.”

“Our ma—” The man’s eyes widen. “Prince Sam.”

Sam nods.

“Yeah. Prince Sam. What painting did he want?”

The man jerks his head toward the garden, and when Sam looks over, his expression softens.

“That’s a Calliope, isn’t it?”

“Yes. I — I have the papers for it,” he adds hurriedly, and Sam nods.

“Yeah. Get them out. How much?”

“We agreed on one thousand.”

Sam relaxes a little.

“Alright. Wrap it and deliver it to the castle. And apologize to Castiel.”

“I — I’m _deeply _sorry, your highness, but in my defense—”

Sam and Cas both glare at him, and he swallows.

“_Deeply _sorry,” he repeats, and Cas just shakes his head.

“See to it that it makes it to the castle,” he says shortly. “And if we hear you’ve been so rude to anyone else—”

“Of course, of course.”

Cas nods, and without another word, stalks off, suddenly very conscious of all the whispers in his wake.

How _humiliating._

“Dude, you seen Cas?” Dean asks Charlie once he realizes it’s been a little while since he’s seen him, and Charlie shrugs.

“Benny saw him dart off and followed after him,” she says, and Dean nods.

Cas would have a fit if he knew everyone had instructions to low-key keep an eye on him, but Cas almost never leaves the castle — which, hey, one _more _fucked up thing about their situation — and Dean just wants to make sure that if he runs into trouble, he — you know. Has backup.

“What direction was that?”

Charlie waves vaguely somewhere to the left, so Dean walks along, peering across the crowd for any sign of Cas. After a couple minutes of walking, he finds Benny trying on various floral accessories in Miss Deirdre’s hand mirror.

“Benny, where’s Cas?”

Benny starts, braided sprigs of baby’s breath slipping on his head.

“Uh. Sam went after him ‘bout ten minutes ago.”

Dean sighs.

“Alright, which way?”

Benny points to the mouth of another market street, and with a grateful nod, Dean sets off.

Honestly, Sam’s probably with him, nerding out over something or other, but Dean wanted to grab something from a foodstall, and he didn’t want Cas bitching if Dean went without him.

Wanting to eat with Cas really has nothing to do with it.

As it turns out, Cas finds _him_, Sam visible several yards behind, and it only takes a few seconds for Dean to realize Cas looks upset, eyes narrowed, jaw set and face red.

He nearly marches right past Dean, but Dean reaches out, catching his shoulder.

“Cas? What’s up?”

Cas freezes, eyes wide as they fly to Dean’s face.

And then he seizes Dean by the collar and drags him into the space between buildings, away from prying eyes, and pushes him against the wall.

“Why haven’t we remarried?” he demands, eyes searching, and Dean’s mouth falls open.

“W-what? What do you mean, why haven’t we . . . Cas, what happened?”

“It’s not important,” he growls. “Dean, why haven’t we remarried?”

“Uh. That — Cas, that’s . . . I mean, Dad’s still negotiating with your sister, and — uh . . .”

“But you spoke with him,” Cas insists. “You told him you wanted to remarry me. And I told my sister what I wanted. Why are we not married, then?”

Dean winces.

“Cas, we’ve been home less than two weeks. It’s the middle of winter. This kind of thing takes time.”

Cas just looks at him, frustration evident.

“But we will be,” he presses.

Dean stares back helplessly. Cas is upset — who the hell knows why — and Dean’s first impulse is to lie through his teeth and deal with it later, once they’re settled and Cas won’t lose his shit over nothing.

“I . . . look, I can’t make any promises—”

Cas inhales sharply, face falling.

“What does that mean?”

“It’s — it’s out of my hands, Cas, and even if Anna’s game, it really depends on my dad—”

“But you _told _him.”

“You know my dad doesn’t listen to me—”

“_Then try harder_!” Cas snaps, hands curled into fists and eyes a little wild. “Tell him again, Dean. And if he doesn’t listen, _keep telling him._”

Dean swallows.

“It’s not that simple, Cas—”

“You came to Eden against his wishes!”

“Yeah, because I was _running away. _We both have to live with him, me more than you, so trust me when I say that isn’t how it works!”

Cas, as pissed as he is, looks on the verge of tears, and Dean almost caves right then and there.

“What did he say? When you told him you wanted to remarry me, what did he say?”

Dean hesitates, and in that silent beat, Cas’s expression changes, eyes narrowing.

“You haven’t told him yet.”

“I—”

“Why wouldn’t you _tell_ him? What if they finish dealing and it doesn’t _happen_?”

“Cas, come _on. _Like I said, it’s been less than two weeks, I’ve barely seen him—”

“Then go see him!”

“Okay! Okay, I’ll go see him! For God’s sake, Cas, I don’t know what happened, but it’s not a big deal, okay? Whatever happens, everything’s gonna be _fine._”

Cas’s brow dips, and he stares at Dean, a little shocked.

“How can you say that?”

“Cas. What — what do you think is going to change, if we’re not married?”

“What do I think is — Dean, _everything _changes!”

“No, it doesn’t! It _hasn’t. _We’ll keep doing what we always do.”

“What if your father tries to make you get married again?”

Dean looks away. He hasn’t thought about that too hard — he doesn’t really feel like getting married to some stranger, and it’s just weird to think about, at this point — but it’s the one place Cas kind of has a point.

“It wouldn’t be for a long time.” He hopes.

“Someone else will get my chair at dinner. I won’t be able to share a room with you. You won’t have as much time for me.”

“That’s a long way off, Cas,” Dean protests. “You won’t even care by then.”

“I won’t even — what does that even _mean, _Dean?”

“It means — Cas, just think about it, okay? Is it really a bad thing, if we’re not married? I mean — in some ways, this — this is your _out._”

Cas recoils.

“My — my out? Why would I want an _out_?”

“Because! Because you’ll be able to marry someone else, if you want. Someone _you _choose.”

Although, Dean likes that idea about as much as he likes the thought of getting married to the next poor bastard his father lines up, which is to say, _not at all._

Cas seems to agree, face full of hurt and bewilderment.

“I — Dean, I thought I told you,” he says quietly, voice thick. “In Eden. If — if I have a choice, I choose you.”

And it sounds nice, sure, but unlike Cas, Dean’s an adult, and he knows better.

“Cas. You can’t choose me. With me, you never had a choice to begin with. I’m just — I’m what you’re used to, but that doesn’t mean I’m what’s gonna make you happy.”

Cas scowls.

“Which is _another _ thing I told you! You _already _ make me happy! That — _that’s why I want you_!”

Dean covers his face, not quite able to look at him anymore.

“Cas,” he mumbles. “You said that after you’d basically been run out of your home and stuck in — bonnet-hell, or whatever. I — I’m your best friend, man, but I’m not what makes you happy. Being here, in Lawrence, with your friends and your family, doin’ what you love — _that’s _what makes you happy. And you shouldn’t have to be married to me to have it.”

The silence lasts so long, Dean wonders if Cas pulled that freaky teleporting move his rank is always bitching about, but when he looks up, Cas is still there.

Except his shoulders are slumped, and his eyes are wet, and he looks devastated and disappointed and furious all at once, and Dean’s breath catches in his throat.

“Is that what _you_ want?” Cas whispers. “After everything, you wouldn’t choose me?”

It’s one of the hardest questions he’s ever been asked, and he doesn’t even know how to begin to answer it.

He takes too long to try.

“Cas—” he starts, but Cas just shakes his head and retreats back toward the crowded market aisle.

Dean fights the urge to follow after him. This is for the best, he reasons. Something upset Cas, and he got emotional, and Dean laid down some — _unfamiliar _truths, and now Cas just needs to think about it.

He’ll come around, though, and he’ll be fine, once he does.

Dean’s sure of it.

Cas strongly regrets ever getting out of bed this morning to begin with.

“Everything okay?” Sam asks, pushing off the building wall he’s leaning against, ten feet or so away from the mouth of the alley he confronted Dean in.

Cas shakes his head, bitter.

“No. No, it isn’t.” He swallows. “Did you — did you know Dean didn’t want to marry me again?”

Sam’s brows lift.

“What? What are you talking about? I thought — I mean, I know that’s, um, King business, or whatever, but — I guess I assumed it’d happen eventually?”

“Yes, well, Dean disagrees. In fact, if it doesn’t, it’s going to be because Dean doesn’t _want _ it to. After — after all these _years, _he — he —” Cas cuts off, struggling with the words. “He doesn’t want me.”

And maybe Cas should have waited. Maybe Cas shouldn’t have let his temper and embarrassment get the best of him; maybe he should have waited a few weeks for Dean’s birthday to get here, so he could challenge him and show Dean he was a man, so Dean could finally accept everything Cas had to offer.

Maybe once he did, he _would _choose Cas.

But Dean’s clearly nowhere near there yet, and never mind being intimate with Cas, Dean doesn’t even want to be married to him, even though they’ve been that way for over six years and were supposed to be that way until they _died._

Cas, more than ever, is _furious _with the Queen of Lettra. She may not have managed to kill him, but she did ultimately ruin his life.

He could lose Dean, just like he’s always been afraid of. And while he might someday be able to ride into battle with him and protect him from the danger of war, he can’t protect either one of them from Cas’s apparent inadequacy.

He doesn’t realize he’s crying until Sam pulls him into a hug.

“Cas — don’t cry, it’s — it’s okay, we’ll figure something out. Everything’ll be okay.”

Cas shakes his head, but says nothing.

Sam doesn’t understand, but how could he?

Cas doesn’t, either.

Cas eats dinner at Meg’s table and sleeps in the barracks, and he’s not sure what makes him feel worse; Alfie’s worried questions about whether they’re fighting and if that means they _won’t _ get married again, or the fact that Dean doesn’t even bother trying to so much as catch his _eye, _let alone confront him to explain himself.

Not that Cas supposes he needs any further explanation. He probably should have known someone as supremely unaffected by the _Warrior’s Angel_ series would never have any kind of feelings that aligned with Cas’s.

He ignores everyone, burrowing into his cold, less comfortable mattress in the barracks, and determinedly feeds his resentment, letting it overtake his hurt. Dean — Dean is being unreasonable, is what he’s being. He hasn’t even given Cas a chance. He knows Dean loves him, at least like family, and he thinks most of the time, Dean’s _happy _ with him, too. Dean reads with him and plays with him and eats with him and bathes with him and trains with him and _snuggles _ with him, and he does it all with a smile most days. In fact, Cas would say the only thing they _don’t _do is — well, sex.

Which leaves him to conclude that the _only _ reason Dean has for wanting the opportunity to marry someone else is a hope that he’ll find someone with whom he can not only do all those other things, but _also _ enjoys having sex with. Enough that he _only_ wants to do it with them, if what he said this morning is any indication.

And that — that isn’t _fair. _ How can he know he won’t like sex with Cas unless he _tries_? Before he dismisses remarriage entirely, he should have sex with Cas at least once, just to be sure.

Of course, he won’t do that until he thinks Cas is an adult, which won’t happen until Cas defeats him in combat, which—

Which Cas is not going to wait until his birthday to do. No, Cas is going to Dean first thing after breakfast and challenging him, and then he’s going to — to _kick his ass, _ and then he’s taking Dean upstairs and _they are going to have sex. _ And as long as Dean doesn’t say it was bad, they’re going to do it _again. _They’re going to do it as many times as it takes for Dean to decide, once and for all, whether that’s something he wants from Cas.

And only _then _will Cas take no for an answer.

The matter decided — and more importantly, a plan in place — Cas curls around his pillow and goes right to sleep.

“I challenge you.”

Dean chokes on his coffee, scrambling to turn in his chair.

“Cas,” he gasps. “What — I — what?”

“I challenge you,” Cas repeats. “After breakfast. We’re fighting.”

Dean gapes at him.

Although maybe he shouldn’t be surprised; it’s probably not unusual for someone to want to fight you after you tell them you don’t want to marry them.

“Dude, no way. I’m not _fighting _you.”

“You are.”

“Except I’m _not.”_

“You _are. _And when I win, you will acknowledge me as the man I am.” Cas looks like he’s going to continue, like there’s another step in this insane scheme, but then he shuts his mouth and glances to the side, coughing. “Let me know when you’re ready.”

“No,” Dean insists. “Sorry, but no. You’re not a man, and we’re not fighting. I’m — I’m _sorry _ about what happened yesterday, but just — take some time and think about it, okay? You don’t have to _fight _me.”

Cas glares.

“I think I do. I’ve spent a lot of time _thinking, _ Dean, probably a lot more than _you _have.” Which, yeah, Dean doubts that. “It’s time. We’re fighting.”

Dean shoves his chair back, snagging his coffee and staring down at Cas from much closer than he wants to be, if only because of that dumbass part of him that _does _want to be close, the part that hated going to sleep without Cas and hated waking up alone just as much.

“No, we’re not, and you can’t make me. End of discussion.”

He steps around him and flees the hall on unsteady legs.

Of course, after that, things get worse than Dean ever thought possible. All the times Dean came home and things got weird are _nothing _compared to this.

Cas doesn’t eat with him or train with him and he sure as hell doesn’t sleep with him, and this time, it’s not totally his fault. Dean doesn’t try and talk to him, not sure what he can say that won’t just make things worse, and he convinces himself this is good for both of them, that Cas can’t really adjust with Dean breathing down his neck.

It’s sound reasoning, but it doesn’t make Dean feel _good. _It makes him feel like shit, and it kind of makes him act like it, too, enough that people are constantly asking him if his rut is about to hit.

And speaking of other people, it looks like everyone’s siding with _Cas, _on this.

“Just _fight _ him, Dean!” Sam insists, a few days before his birthday. “If you really don’t want to marry him, fine, but he deserves some kind of closure instead of — _whatever _it is you’re doing.”

Charlie, of course, is barely speaking to him, though she shakes her head and scowls at him plenty.

And Jo . . . Dean wouldn’t be surprised if she started leaving dead things in his bed.

He naively hopes his birthday will be a good time for a truce, to maybe start putting this whole — _thing — _behind them, but although Cas does contribute a gift to a pile and come to the party, he doesn’t even try to talk to Dean.

No, he just skulks around with Meg or Jo or one of his barrack-mates, looking sadder and more tired by the day. It’s hard to tell, since Dean _does _see him every day, if only from a distance, but he thinks he’s lost weight.

Which of course Dean feels _responsible _ for, a feeling made doubly horrible by the fact that he _is. _Dean’s issues are fucking things up for Cas, after Dean spent years trying to be a source of stability and dependability in his life.

But — but even if Dean _didn’t _have issues, this would have to happen. Dean just wants Cas to have choices; fucked up feelings or not, Dean likes to think he’d take this opportunity to ensure Cas got to make his own damn future, regardless of how people tried to fuck him over in the past.

It’s a necessary evil, is what it is, but it doesn’t make it _easy._

So his birthday passes and they don’t talk, and February comes and they continue to not talk, and in mid-February, Dean’s rut hits.

He doesn’t even bother trying to talk someone into coming to help out. He wakes up cranky and gross and hard as a goddamn rock, and the idea of having any of his friends touch him makes him want to puke.

Well, any of his friends except Cas.

By the second day, Dean doesn’t even bother trying not to think about him.

By the end of the fourth day, Dean’s so exhausted he practically sleeps through the fifth day. He’s also one-hundred-percent sure he’s going to hell.

Also, he _never _should have read those goddamn books.

On the sixth day, he heads back to training, still tired and angry and guilty, and come afternoon, he finds he’s not the only one.

He barely gets any kind of heads up in the form of curious murmurs before someone shoves him, and Dean whirls out of his stumble, hackles raised.

“_Cas_?” he sputters, but Cas’s expression is hard and he just keeps stalking forward, driving Dean back. “Dude, why the hell are you here?”

Cas darts forward and shoves him again.

“Why does it look like I’m here, Dean? I’m here to _fight _you.”

Dean narrows his eyes. Cas picked a shit day to start something, because Dean’s even more wound up than he was before his rut, and he’s not sure what he’s going to do if Cas pushes the issue.

“Cas. We talked about this.”

“You know what, Dean? We did,” he agrees, voice rising. “We talked about this seven years ago, on our wedding night, and you _promised_!” he shouts. “You _promised_ you would fight me!”

Dean grits his teeth, conscious of everyone's eyes on them.

“And I will,” he says, holding his ground. “But you’re not ready yet.”

“_I _ am,” Cas retorts. “The real question is, are _you_?”

“Cas, _drop it,_” he hisses, clenching his fists. “We’re not doing this.”

Cas steps back, and Dean knows a brief moment of relief before he walks to the side, picking up a couple of challenge swords.

“We are.” He tosses one to Dean, and Dean catches it on reflex. “Benny, tell us when to begin.”

“Benny, don’t you fucking dare. Cas, I’m not fighting you, and that’s fi—son of a _bitch_!” Dean barely dodges the slash of the blade as Cas nimbly darts forward on a powerful swing.

There’s a tense silence throughout the yard.

“Begin,” Benny says suddenly, and Dean’s jaw drops.

“Benny, you fucking ass—” Dean blocks the next strike, swords clashing loudly as everyone scrambles to form a crowd around them. He spares a valuable second glancing around, but no help seems to be forthcoming, even though Cas has clearly lost his fucking mind.

Cas takes a step back, staring him down with cold eyes, not even breathing hard, and Dean grimaces.

“Shit. Are we seriously doing this?”

“Yes.”

He swallows.

“Alright, fine. Show me what you got.”

For the first time in over a month, Dean thinks he sees a little light return to Cas’s eyes, and Cas nods.

He relaxes into stance, earlier aggression gone in the face of Dean’s acceptance, and much like his match with Benny, they move around each other in silence for several minutes.

It’s weird, to say the least. It’s been a while since Cas gave his all in training, and before that, Dean certainly didn’t. Dean doesn’t remember _ever _taking the offensive in earnest with Cas, and standing here now, sizing him up and searching for familiar cues, considering and discarding strategies for kicking his ass — it feels strange.

Cas, for his part, looks perfectly at home, and Dean tries not to let that calm, steady stare distract him.

He fails. One minute, he’s forgetting strategy, staring back at Cas and wondering how the fuck they got to this place, when things changed so much he actually had to worry about Cas beating him, and the next, Cas’s blade is flashing and Dean is stumbling like a goddamn fledgling and he only narrowly dodges the strike.

Cas frowns.

“If you let me win—” he starts, and Dean flushes, shaking himself.

“I _won’t. _I’m still adjusting, you dick. I just came off a rut and wasn’t expecting anyone to fucking attack me.”

Cas presses his lips together, re-angling his sword.

“I’m aware.”

Like he’s pissed about it, even though Dean’s rut has fuck-all to do with him, never mind causing him any _inconvenience._

Dean stops staring after that, just works on dodging Cas’s strikes and staging his attacks with the sole intention of feeling him out.

Cas is just so _fast, _it’s incredible. And every time their swords strike, Dean can feel the force of the hit or defense all the way through his blade; if he didn’t already know Cas had been holding back in training, he’d be taken aback by just how strong he is.

It’s a lethal combination, and it quickly becomes clear that Dean will not be going easy on him, not at all.

After twenty minutes, there’s no more circling and watching, just a constant dance of movement, a chorus of steel against steel, and Dean is very aware that he might actually _lose._

And somehow, knowing that makes him fight harder. He’s not sure what they’re fighting about, really, why Cas has always been so determined to have this match, nor is he sure why the hell it matters who wins or who loses.

But now that he realizes Cas might actually _win — _it’s terrifying, for some reason. No way in hell can Dean let it happen.

“Jesus, aren’t they _tired_?” someone mutters, but Dean ignores them. For the most part, the crowd is silent in a way they weren’t for Cas and Benny’s match, transfixed by the sheer tension of the scene before them. Dean is exhausted, and he can tell Cas is, too. Movements are a little shakier on both sides, and despite the crisp, cold air, their tunics are drenched. Dean feels like he might as well be in a sauna. He has no idea how long they’ve been going at it, but Cas isn’t stopping for breath, so neither is Dean. It’s a brutal pace, different even from the actual battles Dean’s fought in; never before has he spent so long with a single opponent, locked in unbroken movement as they both struggle for victory.

And then the week he’s had gets the best of him, or maybe he just fucks up, because as soon as he steps just wrong and a second too slow, he knows he’s hosed, that his side’s wide open and his hands are occupied blocking Cas’s thrust and Cas’s boot is about to send him sprawling to the ground (and leave his ribs sore for the next week in the process).

It doesn’t happen. He knows Cas notices, not just because he trained him to, but because he literally sees the moment Cas’s eyes flicker to his side, sees his leg twitch.

But instead Cas hesitates, and Dean drags his sword free, striking again from high above, and when Cas’s arms lift, Dean doesn’t think twice. He raises his leg and kicks out, refusing to flinch as his foot collides with Cas’s stomach and grounds him with a strangled gasp, sword clattering to the side as Dean drops down after him and brings the blade to his throat.

Cas is staring at him in horror, eyes wide with shock as he struggles for breath, and Dean forces himself to hold the stance when every cell in his body is cringing, because _how dare you hurt him?_

“Yield,” he says quietly, ignoring instinct. He’s a soldier, first and foremost, and Cas wanted a fair fight. Instincts, feelings — they have no place here.

“I lost,” Cas gasps, clutching his stomach. Dean knows a flicker of fear, wondering if he should be worried, if he could have kicked Cas _that _hard — if he’s really hurt — and he casts aside his sword, sitting back.

To his relief, Cas struggles upright. He’s staring at Dean like he’s watching the whole of Lawrence slide into the ocean, but he’s still probably not in mortal peril.

Dean feels like shit about it, anyway.

“I lost,” Cas repeats hoarsely. “I _lost._”

Dean swallows.

“Yeah.”

They sit there for a few moments, still trying to catch their breath.

“What was it?” Cas asks eventually, and Dean shrugs.

“Honestly? We’re evenly matched, I think. This one would’ve been all yours. But you hesitated.”

“I didn’t—”

“You weren’t willing to hurt me,” Dean says bluntly. “Not for real.”

Cas’s expression goes tight, a peculiar grief in his eyes.

“Of course not.”

Dean nods.

“And that’s why you’re not ready, Cas. This is a challenge. Short of permanent damage, you should have been willing.” He clears his throat. “How’s your stomach?”

Cas swallows.

“It will be fine. I tensed.”

Dean nods, allowing himself the rush of relief.

“I thought so, but—”

“It’s fine. You did what you had to,” Cas adds, humorless, and Dean looks away, getting to his feet and offering him a hand. Cas hesitates, but accepts it.

Dean’s surprised to find the crowd has dispersed, everyone milling awkwardly about a safe distance away. He’s grateful for the privacy, but he has no idea what to say to Cas.

“Look,” he says, rubbing his neck. “It’s not the end of the world.” Although, Cas kind of looks like it is. “Like I said, we’re about on level. You’re on track for you knighthood. I just — what are you even trying to prove here?”

Cas is silent for a while.

“I want you to acknowledge me as a man,” he finally says, and Dean sighs.

“Fine, if it’s that important to you—”

“And I want you to _mean _it, Dean, with all the respect that entails.”

Dean just looks at him, nonplussed.

“Cas, man or not, I respect you. I’ve _always _respected you.”

Cas clenches his jaw.

“Don’t, Dean. You know. You know what I mean, what I’m asking you.”

“I really don’t, buddy.”

Cas squares his shoulders and faces him fully.

“I’m not fourteen anymore, Dean. I’m not a child at all. And I’m not naive, either. I understand what you spared me, then, and the gift you gave me of all the days that followed. But those days are over. I — I’m an adult, enough that I — that I _want _ things.” He swallows, but keeps his chin up, gaze steady. “And I want them with you. But you . . . you won’t even consider it. And your excuse, for years, has been that I’m a child, but — I’m not, Dean. I’m _not._”

Dean feels like he swallowed a lizard, and also like maybe he should have listened harder to Charlie.

They’re both gross, awful feelings.

“I — c’mon, man, what — what are you even saying?”

Cas’s lip curls, bitter.

“You’re not stupid, either. You know what I’m saying. And I refuse to let you pretend any longer.”

Dean just looks away, taking a deep breath.

“Okay. Okay, uh. Look, you — maybe you’re right. Maybe you’re . . . an adult.” The words cost him. “But you and me — we’ve got a weird thing going on here, and that’s not either one of our faults, but — even if you think you — that you — _want me, _you — don’t. It’s just — you’re just confused. You don’t know any better.”

Cas stares at him.

“No. No, you don’t get to — Dean, if you don’t want me, then tell me,” he bites out, voice low. “Tell me you couldn’t tolerate intimacy with me, that you couldn’t love me like that, that you want to be free to marry someone else. But don’t tell me how _I _ feel, or what I want, because I am the _only _one who knows.”

Dean’s whole mouth is dry.

“Cas—”

“Tell me, and let us be done with it,” he snaps, eyes searching. “_Tell me, _Dean.”

And it’s hard, lying about something like that, especially with Cas looking at him with all the intensity of a burning sun, openly admitting he _wants _ Dean, in _all _the ways. It’s hard, because Dean is freezing his ass off as his body settles down and the sweat cools, and he knows Cas must be just as uncomfortable, yet he's standing there, waiting for an answer anyway.

It’s hard, because Dean’s thought about it — all of it — a lot, over the past month, and he wants it all, too. And unlike Cas’s, he knows those feelings are real, have been real much longer than he’s been aware of them.

And because of that, because of all those goddamn life-ruining feelings, Dean knows he’s gotta do what’s best for _Cas, _no matter how tempting it is to take advantage of everything Cas is stupidly trying to offer him here.

So Dean opens his mouth and _lies._

“I’m sorry,” he says, and Cas goes still. “I don’t — I _can’t_, Cas. I — you’re my best friend. But I can’t.”

Cas looks stunned, enough that Dean wonders if he’ll call him on it, if some part of Cas _knows, _instinctively, how Dean feels.

“Oh,” is all he says, and the way that one word sounds is nearly enough to make Dean’s resolve crumple.

“Cas, I—”

Cas drops his gaze, holding up a hand.

“I understand,” he says stiffly, though Dean’s pretty sure he doesn’t, and starts past him. “I’ll see you at dinner.”

“Cas-”

“Dean.” Cas pauses, though he doesn’t turn around. “I — I will need some time.”

Dean watches him, vaguely queasy.

“Okay,” he says, because what else can he say?

Cas nods shortly and quickly departs, and Dean stands there, dumbly freezing his ass off in the middle of the field as he watches.

Cas feels like he’s in some kind of nightmare.

_Everything _has changed.

There are no more sleepy good-mornings and breakfasts side-by-side. Cas sleeps in his bunk and sits with his barrack-mates, and there he fixes his plate himself. Sam and Valencia and even Bela occasionally join him, or one of the others sit and chat for a few moments, but Dean never comes by, not even to say, ‘hello.’

Cas supposes he should be grateful — he’s the one who said he needed _time_ — but he’s not.

After breakfast, Cas trains; Dean never comes to check on him, and when practice concludes for the day, Cas either goes to the library or hovers in the kitchens or visits Rowena in her lab, and then he eats dinner with Meg and the others and goes to sleep.

Mostly, he tries to make himself stay in the barracks, but sometimes he can’t help himself. Logically, he knows he’s not _alone _there, with Kevin sleeping above him and dozens of others in the beds around them, but some nights he wakes up, alone in his bed and surrounded by darkness, and for a few disorienting moments it’s like he’s back in Hellenia, certain he’ll never see home again.

So there are some nights, when the day’s been too long and too quiet and that nauseated aching is worse than usual, that Cas trails pitifully after Sam or Valencia and makes himself as small as possible as he burrows in beside them. It’s okay, now, after all. He’s not married, not anymore, and no one cares whose bedroom he spends the night in.

Sam hardly ever sleeps in the barracks, now, and Cas is grateful. As comforting as it is to curl up next to Valencia, Sam smells just enough like Dean that on the worst days, when the loneliness wants to crush him from the inside and his stomach won’t settle and his blood feels thin, crawling into bed with Sam is the only time he feels halfway to normal.

Sam never says anything about the mornings Cas is tucked up close or even clinging a little, and Cas is grateful for that, too.

He does ask if Cas maybe wants to go see Ellen, but Cas always brushes him off. As sick as he feels someday, he knows it’s psychological. Like he told Dean — he needs time.

But after a month, the dregs of winter stubbornly refusing to thaw and leaving _him_ still and washed out, too, Cas begins to wonder if time will really help. He never really feels better, and if anything, seeing Dean is becoming harder.

“Tea, Castiel?” Bela offers, setting the tray down on the library coffee table, and Cas starts, though he leans no less heavily into Sam’s side. He’s aware Sam will get tired of Cas literally hanging off of him at some point, but for now, he still looks at Cas with sad, sympathetic eyes, and Cas is in no position not to be selfish.

“Alright. Thank you.” Something hot does sound nice.

Bela nods, pouring him a cup.

“Ellen blends it for me. I think you’ll feel much better,” she adds casually, and Cas frowns at the cup.

“Ellen?” He hesitates. “If this is medicinal, I’m not sure I should . . .”

Bela waves a hand.

“It won’t hurt you. I really do think it will help.”

So Cas drinks the tea, breathing in the honey and floral, and it’s only when they’ve drained the pot and Cas has finished his book does he realize how much _better _he feels. The room seems a little kinder, a little brighter and fresher, and his body doesn’t feel nearly as out of sorts.

He can’t remember the last time he read so long without zoning out, lost in bleak reflection.

“What does Ellen make you the tea for?” he asks Bela, and she tilts her head, shrewd.

“I don’t regret leaving Eden,” she says slowly. “But it is not without its difficulties.”

“What do you mean?”

She shakes her head.

“Go see her, Castiel. It’s time.”

He doesn’t understand, not really, but assuming the tea and his improved state are not a coincidence, he resigns himself to going.

“Pining sickness?”

Ellen nods, studying him.

“Was wonderin’ if you’d be in to see me. Bobby says you’re not doin’ so hot in training, but you’re upright and — we assume — not vomiting, so it was hard to say.”

Cas blinks at her.

“You . . . expected me to get sick?”

“Odds were good,” she says carefully. “Didn’t wanna harass you if you were doin’ okay, though.”

“You could have asked.”

She hesitates.

“This ain’t an easy conversation,” she says eventually. “I thought it’d be best, for you, if we didn’t have it till we — well, had to. I know you’re havin’ a tough time right now, too, and I didn’t want you feelin’ worse about it.”

Which, if Cas is physically ill, a conversation shouldn’t be able to make it worse.

Unless, of course, he has pining sickness.

“Dean and I are not mated,” he says dully. “I don’t think that’s the problem.”

Ellen looks relieved.

“Oh, good. You know what it is.”

Cas gives her a look.

“I do read.”

Admittedly, he only knows what pining sickness is because Ariel got it when they and Diana were separated for a year in Book Three, but if someone had just _told _him Donna had another library behind her desk, he would have known about it ages ago.

“Honey, I have no idea what you read,” she mutters, then clears her throat. “Well, you don’t need to be mated to get it.”

Cas frowns deeply.

“But Ariel and Diana—” he cuts off. Diana had been overwhelmed by guilt when she realized how sick Ariel had gotten, and tried to apologize for her lack of self-control in biting them — the clear implication being that it wouldn’t have been a problem if they hadn’t mated. “You have to be mated.”

Ellen shakes her head.

“It’s not commonplace, I’ll grant you. It takes a long time to set in, and the kind of circumstances where a couple people would actually scent bond, you usually get bites pretty quickly and the point’s moot. Some places, people still say it ain’t a real thing.” She narrows her eyes. “It is, though. You can smell it, if you know what you’re looking for. Other animals can, too. If anybody’d read the damn thing, I wrote a paper about it. Had suspected patients scent mark bits of cloth and twigs and everything, and healthy folk do it, and the birds wouldn’t touch the first group of materials for their courting nests, which maybe ain’t conclusive but sure as hell says—”

At Cas’s blank look, she cuts off.

“Anyway. So. Yeah, scent-bonding’s a thing, and it can whammy you near as bad as a blood bond.”

He swallows.

“You think . . . I scent-bonded to Dean.”

“Pretty sure, by now.” She pauses. “This ain’t the first time you been sick.”

He stares.

“It’s not?”

“Probably not. You got sick after Dean went to Lettra. Hell, you got sick a few times before that, though not as bad.”

“But — but a bond, it — it goes away, if you don’t want it. Or if you’re rejected.” He averts his eyes. “If I’m sick, isn’t that why? And for that matter, shouldn’t I be getting better?”

There’s a brief silence.

“Should be. But you don’t smell rejected. You smell like you’re pining.”

“I was. Rejected, that is.” It’s difficult, to force the words out, because some part of Cas is still adjusting, is still struggling with the idea that the years he’s spent being in love with Dean, of waiting for the day Dean might return those feelings, have somehow come to this.

That Dean does _not _ love him back, not that way, and now that he knows how Cas feels, he won’t even be his friend. And Cas knows that’s not fair, that he _asked _for time, that he thought of spending his days at Dean’s side, the shame and disappointment of rejection still between them, and didn’t quite know how to cope.

But Dean is his best friend, and even if Cas doesn’t know how to disentangle that from his other feelings, there’s a part of him that still thinks Dean should be trying to show him how.

Of course, if Cas is being very honest, he’s not completely done hoping, either; Cas lost, after all. Surely that must have swayed Dean’s opinion, regardless of what he said about them being evenly matched; might there be a way, then, that Cas could still prove himself? That he could convince Dean to at least _try_?

“Uh-huh.” Ellen studies him. “Well, I don’t know anything about all that, but I trust my nose. If you’ve got some rejection going there, it’s minor, and it ain’t nothin’ compared to the pining. Whatever that boy told you — if you couldn’t scent him rejecting you, your body’s not gonna believe it until your mind does.”

Cas colors.

“Oh,” he says simply, and she doesn’t look surprised. “So . . . how long until the, um, the scent bond fades?”

She shrugs.

“It’s like a blood bond, honey. Stronger it is, harder it dies. But you’d be doin’ a lot worse if it were a blood bond, so console yourself with that.”

He is and isn’t consoled by that; he’s relieved that the sickness is — is _bearable, _if only just — but Cas had never gotten so far as to consider mating with Dean.

Now, he wonders if there’s a reason for that. Blood bonds are either a serious decision or an instinct-driven accident. In the first case, they follow a long-standing attachment, one that’s already been acted on. In the second, they follow a base, nearly irresistible drive, one prompted by scent and attraction.

And yes, Cas had had high hopes for intimacy; he _is_ good-looking, as everyone says, and as Dean himself finally acknowledged. And he and Dean have fun together; Cas knows this must be true, because he misses this fun desperately. There’s not much to smile about, less to laugh over, and in his loneliness Cas often catches himself missing the sight of Dean’s face, eyes bright and amused and crinkling at the corners, his grin wide and easy and so very much beloved.

Only now does Cas realize how confident he’d felt; he’d fight Dean, and win, and then they would have sex — on an ongoing basis, if Cas had his way. And then, maybe, Cas could hope Dean would love him the way Cas loved Dean, that Dean would stop wanting other people like that altogether.

But that second part was still just a hope, and perhaps the reason Cas never once considered _mating _— not even after Diana and Ariel did it in an extremely passionate, dramatic scene at the end of Book Two — is because he didn’t really think anything would come of it. Cas expected not to spend his heats alone, to enjoy Dean’s company in a different way than usual — but if he really thought Dean would love him like that . . .

Wouldn’t he have imagined them mating?

But then, why _would _ he? Much as Cas has come to find Dean’s scent unrivaled in its appeal, he knows Dean has never been affected by his, and certainly not enough to feel compelled to mate him. As far as _feelings _go . . . their attachment was never romantic like that, and now he knows Dean doesn’t even want the sex part of it, so — maybe some part of him did understand that he and Dean were best friends, and that was all they were really likely to be.

“Cas, where’re you at?”

Cas’s eyes sting a little as he blinks, and he looks up to find Ellen regarding him warily.

She gives the air a sniff, then winces.

“Ah.” She doesn’t elaborate, and neither does Cas. “Well — I know it’s real tough, but dwelling on it too much will make it worse, since it’s partly psychological. I don’t know exactly what happened, nor do I want to, unless y’need somebody to talk it out with, but I can promise you you’ll get through it, and you’ll be okay. And anytime you feel sick, make yourself some tea. It’s nothin’ you can have too much of, so long as you don’t drink it by the gallon, so don’t worry about that.”

Cas nods, forcing himself to relax as she brings over the tea satchel.

“Thank you, Ellen.”

“Of course.” She pats his cheek, eyes sympathetic. “Remember; you’re made o’ sturdy stuff, and you’ll make it through.”

He nods, but says nothing. He’s sure she’s right — she is the doctor, after all — but it doesn’t feel like it, right now. Right now, he feels newly foolish and confused and — and _wanting._

Ellen prepares him a cup, instructing him to take the rest of the day off afterward and relax until dinner.

So Cas does as he’s told, and while he’s in the library, sipping his tea and failing to focus on his book, he does quite a lot of thinking.

And by the time dinnertime rolls around, he knows he has to try one last thing.

Dinner is hell, as it usually is, because pretending the food isn’t completely nauseating and eating as much of it as Dean usually does is starting to take its toll.

He doesn’t go back to his room and hurl _every _night, but it happens at least a couple times a week, and the last thing he wants is someone forcing him to either explain himself or go see Ellen.

Besides, he doesn’t _need_ to see Ellen. Nope, Dean knows exactly what’s wrong with him, and he knows Ellen probably knows, too, whether he sees her or not, because he _also _ knows that Ellen — like every other goddamn person in the castle — has known for _years._

Dean getting violently ill when he went to Lettra and left Cas behind? The fact that he was mostly thinking about leaving _Cas _behind, about how hard it was to be apart? His fucked up rut cycle, both the bad ones and those crazy light ones while he was away? Yeah, that was all Dean’s creepy-ass body reacting to what it apparently thought was his _mate._

And now Dean’s gone and not only sent his mate away — or as away as he can get, living in the same castle — but he’s _upset _him. He scents Cas here and there, despite his best efforts to give him ‘time’ or what the hell ever that means, and he knows Cas is hurting.

Worse, his stupid ass instincts know his _mate _is hurting, and that it’s all his fucking fault, so in addition to being sick with pining — and God, Dean never thought he’d have to find out what that felt like — his hormones are trying to _punish _him. _Go fix it! _they’re screaming, all day and all night, it feels like. Just one long, agitated string of _fix it, your mate needs you, you hurt your mate, you’re a horrible alpha, fix it fix it fix __it__._

And no matter how hard Dean tries to internalize the fact that Cas is not and never will be his mate, it doesn’t seem to change anything. He’s sad and stressed and anxious, missing Cas constantly, and every time he sees or scents him he wants to either carry him back to their — to _his — _bedchamber and snuggle under the blankets until the problem goes away, or go throw himself in the nearest frigid body of water like he _deserves._

And yeah, maybe Dean _is _a bad alpha, if he really thinks either option is actually _helpful. _Even if he doesn’t, he’s _still_ a shit alpha, because only a truly horrible alpha would lure an unsuspecting child into some fucked up scent bond with him and then abruptly cut him off from all of it.

And okay, fine_, _the ‘he’s a kid!’ argument sounds weaker to his ears by the day, but he _was _a kid, when all this started; he was a kid for a lot of it, all those years Dean was furtively sinking his claws in, putting Cas at his side and — apparently — treating him like he was already his mate. Training him to depend on him, like Dean was his alpha. To idolize him, to crave his attention and affirmation and —

Dean hurries faster to his bedchamber, since that’s where the bucket is and if he keeps thinking about what he’s done to Cas, pining sickness will be the least of his suffering.

He’s not up there long, not more than five minutes of burrowing into the bed and imagining he can still scent Cas there, before there’s a knock on the door.

“Yeah?” he calls, hauling himself upright and turning toward it. “Come in.”

The door creaks open, an oddly slow thing, and then—

Dean nearly swallows his own tongue.

“Cas?” he croaks, even as his traitorous body practically throws itself out of the bed, eager to be close, to scent him, to show him all the reasons they shouldn’t have to be apart, that they’re better together—

Dean closes his eyes, clenching his fists against the impulse to reach out and touch. Touch is one of the ways he screwed them both; if Dean hadn’t been such a blind idiot, he would have questioned the fact that so many of his strategies for ‘comfort’ and ‘reassurance’ involved constant physical contact.

Now they’re both _used _to it, and so long as Cas thinks he’s got — _feelings — _it’s gotta be just as bad for him that they’re not getting it.

“Hello, Dean,” he offers after a beat, and Dean’s heart aches at how small and uncertain it sounds, at the way Cas sort of hesitates before he drifts closer.

God _damn _it, what has he done to them?

“Hey. What, uh, what’s up?”

There’s a long silence, Cas studying him with tired-looking eyes, before he finally shuffles forward, carefully sitting on the edge of the bed and looking up at him.

“How are you?” he asks, quiet.

_Pathetically hoping the room will still smell like you once you leave again._

“Doin’ alright,” Dean mumbles, hesitating for a moment before dropping down a safe distance away. “You?”

Cas shrugs, looking down, but he doesn’t answer.

Dean’s not sure what to make of that.

They’re silent a beat before he caves.

“So . . . what’d you need?” Cas’s brow dips, and Dean coughs. “I mean — not that you gotta have a good reason, or anything, like — you can just — come see me. If you want. Not that I’m saying you should, just — you know, whatever makes you happy.”

Cas nods slowly.

“Thank you. I — I’ve missed you.” He glances up, something nervous in the way his fingers curl into the bedspread. “I always miss you, when we’re apart.”

Dean aches.

“Well, we’re best friends,” he says gruffly, and Cas nods again.

“Yes. We are.” He clears his throat. “I was thinking about that today, actually. I went to see Ellen, and she, um, she told me I had ‘pining sickness.’”

Dean’s mouth goes dry.

_Bad alpha, _his brain hisses at him, and he can’t even argue. He wanted to believe Cas wasn’t sick, just sad, but bonds are two-way streets. This wouldn’t be happening to him if Cas’s body had thrown off any kind of ‘no thanks’ pheromones or what the hell ever; even if the bond is stronger from Dean’s end, you can smell rejection, and it clearly never happened for either one of them.

He wonders if Cas has put that together, too, if his visit with Ellen confirmed that Dean’s a dirty liar who’s breaking Cas’s heart for a reason he can’t understand yet.

“I’m sorry,” he manages, and Cas shrugs again.

“She gave me the same tea Bela drinks.”

“Bela?” Dean echoes, thrown.

“Because she left Anna,” Cas explains. “They were blood-bonded, though, so . . . I think it’s worse.”

“And . . . there’s a tea for that?”

Cas nods.

“It’s very effective.” He lifts a hand, carefully inspecting his palm. “If — if you ever have that problem, I highly recommend it.”

Well, that answers that.

And even though Dean knows he deserves to be however sick this makes him, he makes a note to swallow his pride and go see Ellen first thing. He needs some of this damn tea.

“Oh. Cool. I, uh, I’m glad if it makes you feel better.”

Cas nods.

“I know.” He takes a deep breath. “I know you care a lot. About everyone. It’s one of the things that makes you remarkable.”

“Uh.” Dean doesn’t know what to say to that. “Thanks, I think.”

Cas clears his throat.

“I did have a reason for coming here. I wanted to ask you something and — I’d like it if you thought about it, before you said no.”

“Okay. Uh. What’s that?”

Cas turns to face him more fully, expression serious, and Dean would mistake him for calm if he weren’t still clutching the blanket.

“I . . . would like it if you’d try having sex with me.”

Dean just about chokes on his own tongue.

“I — uh — excuse me?”

Cas leans forward, eyes earnest.

“I thought we should try. I know — all the things you said, you probably haven’t changed your mind — I don’t expect you to — and I understand if you still don’t feel like this is something you can do — but please _consider _it.”

“Cas, I told you—”

“You still didn’t want to see me as an adult,” Cas interrupts, looking a little panicked. “You’ve been thinking of me as a child. It’s understandable that your first instinct would be to — to be put off, by that. But I am not a child. And I think, if we had sex, you’d see that.”

“Just — hold the fuck up, Cas, sex has nothing to do with maturity—”

“Of course not,” Cas says hastily. “It’s not — it isn’t about the sex itself, it’s about — Dean, I know you have sex with many of your friends, and I know — I don’t think you’re in love with any of them. You acknowledged I was good-looking. And — I’m not married. I’m not your responsibility. I’m allowed to — do what I want, with whomever I want. And I would like to do that with you. And if you let me, I thought — you might realize that I am an adult, _because_ I can make those decisions for myself.”

And yeah, no, Dean really doesn’t appreciate the reminder that Cas can do whatever and whoever he wants, which is just proof of what a terrible person Dean is.

It’s not that he’s not tempted. There’s a selfish, devious part of him that reasons this could be a _good _thing. The last thing he wants is for Cas to rebound or something and end up having a terrible first experience. Dean can be good to him. Dean can be _great _to him. Is that really taking advantage, if he’s potentially saving Cas from something worse? Like Cas said, they _are _friends. Dean would do that for a friend. And if he does give in here, who’s to say it won’t _help _Cas move on? Cas wants something and he’s being told _no, _without any hope of resolution. Maybe, if they do this, he’ll realize it’s not like it is in the novels, because he’s _not _in love with Dean, and he can let go with confidence.

And maybe Dean is an appalling excuse for a human being, and he’s just looking for any reason to do what he’s wanted to for months now.

“It’s not about that,” Dean says carefully. “We talked about this, Cas. Your feelings are all tangled up in — in all the other stuff.”

“And I told you not to tell me how I feel,” Cas says calmly. “I’m not asking you to acknowledge my feelings. I’m asking you to acknowledge _me_. You don’t have to love me, or even want me, right now. Or ever. As long as I don’t repulse you, though, I want to try. I want to be close to you. We can stop, if you don’t like it, if I don’t feel good to you, but until you actually dislike it, why can’t we just try?”

It all sounds very reasonable, when he puts it like that, except for the part where Dean does love him and wants to keep him forever and would eat every itchy ceremonial uniform in his trunk if it turned out Cas somehow didn’t _feel good to him._

“You don’t do that with friends where there are feelings involved, Cas. It’ll just — you don’t have any experience. Me being your only choice is how we got into this mess. This isn’t about how _I _feel, Cas, this is about what’s best for you. Doing that — you’ll just — you’ll get more confused.”

Cas’s mouth flattens.

“I am not confused.”

“You _are._”

“I’m not. How many times do I have to tell you, Dean? I am no longer tied to you. I make my own choices.”

“Except we’ve been divorced for like, two seconds, Cas. Michael sold you off as a _child. _I mean, shit, you’ve been signing all your letters ‘yours’ since you were fourteen. This is all you’ve known, the whole time you’ve been growing up. That you were mine and you were always gonna be mine, and there was never any chance of there being anyone else. Of course you think you love me. It makes being owned a little more bearable, don’t you think?”

Cas flinches.

“You never owned me.”

“The papers all said different.”

“You never treated me like you owned me, and I was too naive to know anything other than what I saw firsthand,” Cas insists. “The politics — all of it, that went over my head, Dean. It was just you.”

“_Exactly. _It was just me. You got sent away from home and told you couldn’t have the only thing you’d ever wanted. And there I was, not a complete dick and happy to give it to you. You’d have gotten attached to anyone who treated you halfway decent.”

“That was seven years ago, Dean,” Cas protests, visibly frustrated. “I was grateful. I was in awe of you. But that was _then. _I’ve grown up, and I know you, now. And my feelings for you now are separate from whatever they may have started as.”

“You can’t know that.”

“Well, you don’t own me now,” he snaps. “I’m here in Lawrence with all the people I love, and I am still training to be a knight, and I am a free man. And I still want you.”

“You can’t shake seven years of brainwashing in a few months, Cas. Give it time and you’ll see.”

“Have sex with me, and _you’ll _see,” Cas counters, and then he fucking scoots closer, stare intent. “You’re a good man, Dean. Sam told me, a long time ago, that you’re afraid of doing the wrong thing. Let me prove, to us both, that this is what I want. And if it isn’t, or if it isn’t what you want, then — we move on. But we should try.”

Dean turns away, propping one elbow on his leg and letting his face fall into that hand.

“I can’t,” he mumbles. “Cas, I can’t. Trust me when I say it won’t help. And — and stop pushing. Please. I — you know I care about you, that you’re my — my best friend. That’s all I want. I don’t wanna lose that, either. So if you need time, take time, but don’t — don’t ask me to do things like this.”

Cas doesn’t respond, and Dean sits there, shielding his face and terrified that if Cas doesn’t listen, Dean won’t have the will to keep saying no. He can hear him breathing, deep and even, and he’s hit with a sudden wave of longing for all the nights he fell asleep to that sound, to the sure knowledge that Cas was there and he’d still be there in the morning and nothing about it ever had to change.

“Alright.” It’s a whisper, soft and strained, and Dean doesn’t dare look at Cas’s face when he speaks. He doesn’t think he can bear it.

He feels Cas get up from the bed, and he swallows, trying to find the right words.

“You’re gonna be okay,” he manages, hoarse. “You’ll see.”

Silence follows, and a few moments later, Dean hears Cas walk out and quietly shut the door behind him.

Five minutes after that, Dean’s dinner sloshes violently into the bucket.

Cas goes straight to Sam’s room and doesn’t say a word before he climbs in and commandeers his shoulder for an embarrassing but irrepressible bout of tears.

Sam, as always, is a good sport, immediately rearranging himself to be a more comfortable pillow and rubbing Cas’s back in such a comforting way he cries harder.

Anna used to do this for him, when he was a child and something very upsetting happened, but knights were supposed to be stoic and princes even more so. In retrospect, Cas was very lonely before he came to Lawrence, where nobody thinks twice about touching him with affection.

He’s glad he’s become so Lawrencian, now, that he didn’t hesitate to go to a dear friend and ask for comfort. This feels worse than last time, somehow; it feels crushingly _final, _and Cas didn’t even realize just how much hope he still harbored.

Now he knows, though, because only now does it really feel _hopeless._

“What happened?” Sam asks quietly, once Cas’s outburst has settled into sniffles, and he reluctantly unburies his face from where Sam’s collarbone meets his shoulder. The woods have gone soft and cool and bright, storminess faded into the background in his concern, and it’s just as comforting as the soothing hand on his back.

“Nothing. Not really. I, uh, I talked to Dean again, and — it’s not — he didn’t say anything different, really, but I — I realized he means it. He won’t — he’s not going to change his mind.”

Sam is quiet, and then he takes a deep breath.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not anyone’s fault but my own.”

“It’s not your fault, Cas,” Sam says gently. “You can’t exactly help how you feel.”

“I didn’t want to, before.” Cas swallows. “I didn’t — it didn’t really mean much, being in love with him. I was happy that I was, for whatever reason, but I didn’t think it changed anything. But it _does, _Sam. It changes a lot of things, and — it does mean something.”

“I know,” Sam says, pained. “But — Cas — even if he won’t . . . even if he says he doesn’t want that with you, you know he loves you, right? More than anything. And he wants you to be happy.”

“I know.”

And he does know that. Dean has always been there for him, has always tried to cheer him up when he was sad, has tried to take care of him even when he didn’t need it. Dean went to Hellenia and then to Eden for him, and he brought him home, and he let Cas stay with him during his rut even though it must have been a nuisance.

Dean must love Cas very much.

Which is why Cas was hoping that that love, immense and obvious as it is, could become the kind that Cas felt. That Dean could want to marry him even if no one was making him, that helping Cas with a heat wouldn’t be a burden, that Cas wouldn’t have to worry about his own feelings making either one of them unhappy.

But it’s clear, now, that as much as Dean _still _loves him and wants what’s best for him, it’s never going to be that. That Cas’s feelings are the burden he always feared they’d be, and they’re making Dean unhappy. Dean doesn’t even think they’re _real, _and either way, he wants Cas to get over them.

The future Cas wanted — that he thought he could have — is never going to happen, and Cas — Cas doesn’t know what to do.

How is he supposed to get over them? Figuring them out in the first place was difficult enough, and Cas loves Dean _more_ with every day that passes, not less. How can he see him each day and expect to change that? Dean’s right about one thing; Cas has thought of himself as belonging to Dean for years, now. _Especially _once he figured out his feelings, the knowledge that he was Dean’s and it would always be that way — that in some way, Dean was always going to be _his — _was immeasurably comforting.

But that’s not how it is, anymore, and Dean doesn’t want it to be, and Cas — somehow, Cas is going to have to find a way to accept that.

“I don’t know what to do,” Cas whispers. “What can I do? What would you do, if Valencia said she didn’t want you?”

Sam is quiet for a moment.

“I don’t know,” he finally says. “But I’m here for you. We all are. And we’ll help you figure it out.”

Tears well up again, and Cas hides his face in Sam’s sleeve without another word.

Even if it doesn’t feel like it now, Sam is right.

He has to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ** SPOILERS **  
Reference to past Dean/others:  
Dean and Cas have a conversation in which Cas basically tries to figure out if Dean is monogamous when it comes to romantic partners. He does so by referencing a scene with Diana and Ariel in which Ariel is jealous at the prospect of Diana getting rut help from someone else, and locks the two of them in an atrium to force Diana’s hand. Cas’s discomfort in the past when Dean had had other partners is referenced; when Cas asks if Dean empathizes with Ariel in that scene, Dean misunderstands that Cas is asking if Dean has been with an alpha in rut; no details are given, but based on Dean’s evasive response, the implication is that he probably has.
> 
> Potentially problematic thoughts from Cas: Cas determines that the only reason Dean doesn't want to marry him is because he'd rather marry someone he can also have sex with; Cas feels like this is unfair, since Dean hasn't tried, and decides that he will challenge Dean and they will sleep together as many times as needed for Dean to conclusively decide he doesn't want that, and only then will Cas take no for an answer to remarrying. These are not healthy ideas about the situation (Dean is not obligated to marry him, and 'try it before you decide you don't like it' is dangerous justification), though they come from a place of hurt and naivete about how such things work. Ultimately, the situation doesn't come up, but if it did, Cas would certainly not try to force Dean or anything. He's trying to rationalize a way to convince Dean to still marry him, but it does sound bad, so I apologize if it makes any of you uncomfortable.


	18. Part XVIII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: mild reference to the incident with April, mentions of the civil war, brief non-romantic Cas/other flirting/kiss (beginning and end marked with **, see details in the end notes), please let me know if I missed anything.

For the next week, Cas can barely keep his food down, and Sam practically hauls him to the infirmary to see Ellen again.

“Rejection,” she says, and Cas is not surprised.

“I understand now that it, uh. It’s not going to happen.”

Ellen looks uncharacteristically grumpy at that, but says nothing.

“Well. I got another tea for that. This one’s all over the map as far as efficacy, but it’s worth a shot. I recommend alternating with the other one until symptoms abate.”

Cas wonders if that will ever happen.

“Now that I’m — going through rejection,” he manages. “The bond should fade, right? I’ll get sick, but then it will be gone, and I’ll be better?”

“Physically.” Ellen gives him a sad look. “Can’t say I know of any medicine that helps with a broken heart.”

He swallows.

“And how long does that last?” he asks, and she shakes her head.

“So long as it’s still in some irresponsible clod’s hands, I reckon.”

“It’s not his fault,” he protests, and she snorts.

“How he feels ain’t. What he does is.”

“What do you mean?”

She sighs.

“It means the way that boy handles things leaves a little somethin’ to be desired. But listen, honey — whatever opinions I might have, it ain’t really my business. He’s gonna do what he’s gonna do, and I’m gonna do my best to help you get through it.”

Cas runs into Jo on his way out, however, and she feels much more comfortable speaking on the subject.

“What’re you doing here? I thought you weren’t due for a heat for a while,” she says, leaning into sniff at him. Then she frowns, huffing the air again before outright _growling._

“What?” Cas asks, alarmed, and she narrows her eyes.

“You’re sick.”

“It’s nothing serious.”

“If you’re seeing Mom, it’s serious enough, and you shouldn’t be sick in the first place. That _asshole._”

He’s fairly confident she’s talking about Dean, and once again wonders why everyone wants to hold Dean responsible when Cas is the one who developed feelings he knew he shouldn’t, the one who tried to burden Dean with them, anyway.

If there’s blame here, it lies at Queen Hess’s door, but as much as Cas selfishly regrets what her plot put into play, he recognizes that if Dean doesn’t want to be married to him, he shouldn’t _have _to be.

“He didn’t do anything wrong,” he says tiredly, and Jo’s lip curls.

“You really believe that?”

“He can’t make himself love me,” Cas snaps, frustrated, and she frowns at him.

“Sure, but — he led you on. How are you not pissed?”

“Led me on?” Cas repeats, and she lifts her brows.

“Yeah? You know you and Dean aren’t normal, right? He’s been staking his claim for years.”

Cas just stares dumbly.

“Staking his claim?”

“Like the goddamn animals we supposedly aren’t,” she confirms sourly.

“I don’t understand,” he tells her, and some of the fight leaves her expression.

“’Course you don’t. Bastard’s probably counting on it.”

“I don’t think Dean is — counting, on anything. He shouldn’t have to deal with my feelings.”

“It’s his fault you have them!” she insists, dropping onto one of the hallway benches. “You and I are friends — hell, you and Sam are _best _friends — but you don’t see either one of us pawing at you day in and day out.”

“Dean doesn’t paw at me,” Cas points out. Ariel got ‘pawed at’ by a lecherous, drunken tavern-goer in Book Two. Cas can confidently say Dean has never pawed at him, and certainly not on a daily basis.

Jo casts a furtive look at the door, then urgently pats the seat beside her.

“Look, Mom’s been telling me not to get involved for years, but this is crazy. It’s not fair to you, and since the person who _does _owe you an explanation isn’t giving you one, I swear to God, I’m gonna.”

Hesitantly, Cas sits down beside her and she faces him, voice lowering.

“Dean treats you like his _mate._”

“He doesn’t—”

“You don’t know what that means,” she snaps, then winces. “Sorry. I’m just — you’re not an idiot, and you’re not ten. I’m tired of everyone hiding shit from you just because they don’t want to scar you or whatever.”

This sounds like a pretty good reason for hiding things, on the one hand, but Cas has always been vexed by the sense that people try to shelter him.

“I know what it means to be mates,” he still says, because Jo should know that Cas is not completely helpless or ignorant, the efforts of others notwithstanding.

She inclines her head.

“Those books were pretty good,” she agrees, then shakes herself. “Anyway, that’s fiction, and there was a bunch of other shit going on, and I’m not talking about the dramatic love confessions or the bites, okay? I’m talking about the little things. Instinctual shit people do when they like someone.”

“Like what?”

“Well, first of all — Dean fixes your plate at dinner, right?”

“When we ate together,” he corrects her, and she looks briefly exasperated, then guilty, then annoyed again.

“Yeah, that’s what I mean. But you’re _twenty, _ Cas. Honestly, that was a little weird when you first got here, but at least you were still small and cute enough it made sense. Everybody wanted to coddle you. But he should have stopped after a couple years. Hell, _you _should have wanted him to stop! Dean’ll say it’s his inner alpha or some bullshit, but he’s just like that, and he tried to pull some of that crap on Sam, too. Except Sam got snippy and shut him down and Dean backed off and that was that.”

Cas hesitates.

“I like that Dean does that — or did that — for me.”

“Of course you do. You like _Dean — _ and you obviously scent-bonded with him. That’s just your would-be-mate doing his showy-provider thing. Kind of like when _you_ show off at practice for him.”

Cas flushes.

“I don’t,” he mumbles, and she snorts.

“Could have fooled me. Biggest bruise I ever got was when Dean came to watch you on the field.”

“Coincidence.”

“_Anyway. _So there’s that, him wanting to be the one to hand you your food. Ring any Dariel bells?”

“Dariel?”

“It’s what Charlie and I call Diana and Ariel.”

“Oh. No?”

“Really? Them holed up in that abandoned cottage, Diana hunting the shit out of rabbits and stuff and making sure Ariel had plenty to eat?”

“Ariel was still adjusting to their human body.”

“Maybe, but Diana was also courting them like crazy. Classic alpha trope, though in real life, omegas do it, too. Some crap about proving they’ll be capable providers for offspring in the event that their alpha dies, but a) ew, and b) ew, so whatever.”

“I don’t think it’s the same thing,” he says dubiously. He and Dean are nothing like — Dariel. They wouldn’t be in this situation if they were.

Jo rolls her eyes.

“Well, there’s still all the pawing I mentioned. And yeah, that’s what it is, Cas. Dean touches you every chance he gets. And not just in safe, clothing-covered places, either. He puts his hands all over your neck and face and hair, too. You know why he does that?”

“He’s being affectionate?”

“He’s dousing you with his scent,” she says frankly. “Because he likes smelling himself on you, and he likes other people smelling him on you — which we all could, by the way — because it means nobody else is gonna wanna touch you. Or they’ll think twice about it, if they do.”

“Dean is . . . very physical. He never meant anything by it,” Cas assures her, and it’s probably true, but now he’s thinking about Diana rubbing her cheek along both sides of Ariel’s neck after the aforementioned pawing incident, guiltily mouthing _mine _as she went.

Of course, Dean never did _that, _and Cas isn’t stupid enough to think things like ‘nuance’ and ‘context’ aren’t important here.

“Physical with _you, _you mean. Literally nobody else shows up to dinner reeking of the Dean Winchester special, Cas. If he tried to put his dumb cold hands up anybody else’s shirt, he’d lose a fucking arm.”

Cas reddens.

“It’s a game—” he starts, but she’s not finished.

“And don’t get me started on the wrestling thing. You know he’s not really teaching you anything when he pins you to the ground, right? He just likes you under him.”

“_Jo_,” he chokes out, face flaming. “Dean — Dean’s made it clear he doesn’t — that that’s not — you have to understand, Dean sees me as a child. He plays with me, and he’s affectionate with me, but only because to him I’m still — what did you say? ‘Small and cute.’”

She gives him a disbelieving look.

“You’re built like a castle turret, Cas. A pretty castle turret, but it stands. And also? Dean just got _worse_ as time went by. The way he treated you after he brought you home from Eden — if he really _does _see you as a child, Jody needs to lock him in the damn dungeon.”

Cas has no idea what to say to that.

“Anyway,” she says, holding up a finger. “He got antsy as hell when you used to have your heats. Remember that time he brought you blankets and pillows? From _his _bed? First of all, alphas and omegas who go to war leave scent tokens for their mates, to comfort them during their cycles. Dean couldn’t be with you, but his first instinct was to give you something that smelled like him. No matter how you slice it, that’s what you do for a mate. Second thing? Pillows and blankets, Cas. Stuff for a nest. He couldn’t build it for you himself, but he needed to make sure you were tucked up cozy.”

Cas can’t help himself. He thinks about Eden, about Dean hauling all that bedding into his room for Cas, arranging and rearranging and fussing at length, and he almost wonders if Dean _did _build him a nest.

Still . . .

“Dean cares about me. He always wants me to be comfortable.”

She just looks incredulous.

“He cares about a lot of people, Cas. He’s known Charlie and me since we were all kids, and sure, he’ll drop in with a snack and a bad joke, but he’s never ambushed us with soft things when we were laid up in cycle. Wanna know why? ‘Cause you do that shit for your _mate._”

“As I said—”

“Which is another thing! He didn’t do that again, after that. Wanna know why? Because the asshole spent so much time with you, you scent-bonded and synced up, so he was too busy handling his rut like a pansy-ass jerkoff while you were over here suffering because of _him._”

Cas blinks.

“We synced because of the scent-bond?”

“Dude, Dean’s been fucking with your heats since he came back from the Hellenian war. He practically causes them every time he comes home.”

He gapes.

“He can't — _cause_ them. Can he?”

“Oh, yes he can! Spontaneous cycle happens for two reasons; one, you meet somebody and they smell so awesome your dumb animal brain decides getting to know each other first is for chumps, and two, when you’ve been separated from your mate for long enough and then you reunite.”

“Well, obviously the first thing didn’t happen—”

She shrugs.

“Didn’t it?” she asks, casual.

“I had my first two heats while Dean was _gone. _No, it did not.”

“Exactly. You met Dean when you’d barely started puberty. You couldn’t have scented him for real if you’d wanted to. _Y__ou_ definitely wouldn’t have smelled like a viable mate to him, not at that age.”

He considers this, disturbed. He distinctly recalls wanting to chase Dean around the hall, he smelled so good, and he was sure Dean hadn’t smelled so nice before he’d left. He’d made up that ridiculous lie about the Edenish scenting people after a long absence because he hadn’t been able to help himself.

“But does it matter?” he asks suddenly. “I already know I love Dean, and I’m attracted to him. That — I don’t think that’s a secret, anymore.”

“It never was,” she says kindly, and he deflates.

“The important thing is that Dean doesn’t feel that way.”

Her expression darkens.

“Well, whether he does or doesn’t, the point is, he’s rejecting you and making you sick even though he’s been acting like a sure thing for years.”

“I never misunderstood his intentions, Jo.”

She shakes her head.

“You say that. But this stuff, it’s instinct. On some level, you _knew. _ You knew he was treating you like a mate — and he totally was — and you fell for it, hook, line, and sinker, and now he’s taking it all away. He should have known better, but he just — did what he wanted and now you’re hurting, and — and somebody should have said something to him! Or said something to _you_ ! But no, everybody was like, ‘give them time’ and ‘let’s not meddle’ and now Dean’s got his head up his ass, like I _knew _he would, and why the hell doesn’t anyone ever listen to me?”

Cas hesitates, then reaches over and pats her shoulder.

“I appreciate the thought,” he tries, though he can’t say he feels better after talking to her. It would be a lie to say that Cas wasn’t aware Dean was different with him, that it didn’t make him feel _special, _ that he wasn’t afraid of losing it all if their marriage was in jeopardy — but if Jo’s right and _that’s _what all of that usually means . . .

Well, it _does _make him feel worse. Blood bond or not, Jo makes it sound like they were effectively mated. That Cas chose Dean as a mate, as soon as he was capable.

That Dean behaved like he wanted that, too.

Perhaps he _should _be angry with Dean.

“Well, I don’t,” she grumbles. “Mom’s _still _ trying to say, ‘it’s complicated, Joanna Beth,’ and ‘it’s nobody’s business but theirs, Joanna Beth,’ and it’s a load of bullshit. We’ve all been biting our tongues for years and look where we are. Ev-er-y-body thought you’d mate, but after leading you on and letting you suffer while he supposedly waited for you to grow up, he’s icing you out. Maybe if they hadn’t all acted like you were a little kid and given Dean’s crap a pass, you wouldn’t be in this mess. So I guess it’s _Dean’s _fault, but feel free to blame my mom and Bobby and Sam, too.”

“Sam?” Cas repeats, startled. “Sam knew how I felt. He’s been a great comfort.”

“And I bet he told you to give Dean time, huh?”

“Well, yes, but—”

“But you ended up giving him more time to screw you over.”

Cas looks down.

“And — all of you thought we’d mate?”

“Of course we did!”

“Because we were married?”

“No, because Dean was disgustingly obvious! Besides, you two got on like a house on fire, and clearly all the hormones and shit were down. Only a raging _moron_ doesn’t mate in that situation.”

Cas deflates.

“I think you all misunderstood,” he says slowly. “Maybe Dean _was_ wrong, to treat me the way he did — but you should have known it might not mean anything. While my, um, my ‘hormones and shit’ may have been down, Dean’s were not. Are not. It would be a mistake, if we did mate.”

Even as he says it, he knows he doesn’t sound very convincing. It’s not that he wants to — to _trap _ Dean with him, but Dean never minded being with him before. Cas isn’t necessarily sure Dean will _find _whatever it is he’s waiting for, and isn’t being with a best friend better than nothing?

Jo gives him a long, unhappy look, and then abruptly crushes him in a bear hug.

“It doesn’t matter what the hell’s going on,” she mutters. “He’s been a dick and you deserved better from him. And whatever happens, you should remember that, okay?” She pulls back, catching his eye. “You take care of _you, _Cas. Let Dean worry about himself.”

Jo slaps him on the back and gets up, rolling her shoulders.

“Gonna go help Mom, now,” she announces gruffly, though her eyes are soft when she looks back at him. “Let me know if I can help with anything, okay?”

“Okay,” he agrees, and once she’s gone, he stands up, clutching his new tea satchel close as a wave of nausea hits him.

She’s given him a lot to think about.

The tea helps a little, but there are still some days over the next week where Cas can’t quite make himself get out of bed. Sam and Valencia and others come to entertain him, but there are plenty of hours where he’s left to his own devices, and during that time, he can’t help but dwell on his talk with Jo. Jo is rarely anything but honest, and the more he thinks about it, the more what she says makes sense.

He’s still not quite — _angry_, at Dean, but he acknowledges that he’s frustrated. He’s been frustrated for years, and he’s only more so, now, because he has no idea what to do with himself, and if Jo’s right — maybe Cas could have had an easier time overcoming this years ago, if Dean hadn’t behaved that way.

On the other hand, Cas also struggles to wish all the wonderful times with Dean hadn’t happened exactly as they were.

It’s very complicated.

Whether he’s angry or not, though, he finds his thoughts ultimately stuck on her final piece of advice to him. _You take care of _you.

He’s not sure what that means, or if Jo even knew. He wonders if that’s what he’s supposed to figure out, now.

It’s strange, in light of that, to receive Anna’s letter.

_Dear Cas,_

_How are you? I know from personal experience that it’s a pointless thing to ask; _ _and even so, I don’t know what you’re going through, not really._

_ Things are _ _still _ _well, here. _ _It’s remarkable; you know _ _I didn’t know what to expect, after Michael and Lucifer, but the people want peace, and they want Eden to be great. Some days, it’s almost like the civil war never happened._

_ They also want to be rid of legally__-enforced, status-identifying_ _ hatwear — most of them, anyway — and you’ll be pleased to know _ _that as of yesterday, _ _you may roam the town a bareheaded heathen if you return._

_ On that subject — I miss you. I don’t want to part you from your friends, but I know things are difficult for you, right now, and I wondered if you might not benefit from a visit to Eden. Of course, you may have had your fill _ _of us last year._

_ Still — it’s something to think about, so please do, and let me know._

Cas does think about it. He thinks about it a lot.

His first instinct is to tell her _no. _He’d like to see her — if he misses her when he’s happy, he misses her even more when he’s sad — and it’s easier for him to go to her than the reverse, now that she’s King; still, Cas spent so long waiting to come home. He doesn’t want to leave again. He doesn’t want to leave training, or his friends, or — regardless of what things have turned into — Dean. He hated being apart from Dean. He never wanted to do it again.

But in a lot of ways, he _is _apart from Dean. Dean feels so very far away, now, and yet Cas wonders sometimes if he’s not far enough. No matter how hard Cas tries to figure out a way to move forward, to move past this, to arrive at a place where he can at least have his friend back — he can’t really do it with Dean constantly in the background, drawing Cas’s focus like a magnet.

Maybe, for Cas to get better, for them to be friends again — maybe he _should _go away. Not forever; as painful as it is, as it’s been, Cas can’t bear the thought of leaving forever.

But for a little while — maybe it’ll be a good thing. Despite Ellen and Sam’s assurances, Cas isn’t getting better. A lot of days, it feels _worse_. Thinking about the future is nearly enough to send him straight back to bed, and he has no idea what to expect from it.

What he even _wants _from it, of the things he can actually have.

_You take care of _you.

He can come back. He _will _come back. There’s no reason to be afraid of leaving, and a lot of reasons to be hopeful.

So even though his hands shake, heart aching and stomach uneasy, Cas writes his sister back and tells her he’ll see her in a few weeks.

“He’s what?”

It’s been a twisted kind of hell, slogging through the days without Cas, knowing he probably feels nearly as shitty as Dean does and there’s not a lot either of them can do about it.

The mornings Sam comes to breakfast _reeking _of Cas are particularly difficult; you’d think his brother would have the decency to switch to a morning bath schedule so Dean didn’t have to cycle through eight different moods regarding his not-mate spending half his nights in somebody else’s bed.

It’s not like he’s not _glad _ Cas has somebody to cuddle up with and find comfort from, but Dean sure as hell doesn’t, and he’s not _not _ sensitive about Cas’s history with Sam, and Cas is kind of emotionally vulnerable now, besides, and anyway, it’s all Dean can do not to hassle Sam about making sure he doesn’t give Cas the wrong impression _again. _The last thing he needs is to double down on heartbreak.

Yup, all totally reasonable, selfless worry.

Anyway, Sam’s wafting sleepy omega like crazy today, and Dean blames that distraction for why it sounds like Sam just said Cas was going to Eden.

“Not — not forever,” Sam says hastily, though he looks worried. “But he thought it’d be good. Just for a little while.”

Dean doesn’t kid himself that there are any circumstances under which this news wouldn’t make him freak out, but Sam’s clear dismay and conspicuous self-reassurance are raising all kinds of red flags.

“He hates Eden,” he protests. “Why the hell would he go back?”

“Well, his sister’s there, and — come on, Dean. You know things aren’t good for him here right now.”

“He doesn’t have to _leave._”

Sam looks down.

“No, he doesn’t. But if he wants to — maybe he’s right. Maybe it would be good for him.”

“Like hell. You remember how he was when we finally tracked him down. You weren’t there, Sam — he cried, he _begged _ me to take him home. And now he wants to go back? What the hell _is _ that? I — I don’t care how sad he is, this is his _home, _he belongs here, with his frie—” Dean cuts off as a breakfast roll bounces off the side of his face, and he snaps his head around to find Jo giving him the most unimpressed look he’s ever seen in his life.

“Shut up, Dean,” she drawls. “And if Cas wants to go to Eden, don’t you _dare _try and stop him.”

“Mind your own business,” he snarls. He’s sick of Jo’s attitude. Maybe it is his fault, but it’s not easy for him. “I wasn’t talking to you.”

“He _should _go to Eden. You’re making his life hell, here.”

“I’m not even talking to him!”

“Exactly. And you know what? I hope, when he does go there, that he meets some smokin’ hot alpha.”

“Jo,” Sam utters, warning, but she just smirks at Dean, chin up.

“Yup. A badass, sexy alpha who spars with him and tells him how pretty he is in his flower comb and snuggles in bed reading all the romantic lesbian smut Cas wants.”

“Shut up,” Dean hisses. He knows she’s trying to goad him, but his stomach doesn’t care, and everything he’s eaten so far is making a bid for freedom.

She shrugs.

“Yeah, Cas deserves someone amazing. Someone who makes him laugh, and takes him seriously, and — what else? Oh, right: builds a great nest and spends his heats fucking his brains out like a real mate w—”

Dean doesn’t even remember shoving the chair over, or getting a hand on her collar. One minute, Jo’s running her mouth and Dean’s getting angry, and the next, everything is red and he can barely see her wide-eyed and gaping through the haze.

“_Shut up,_” he roars, giving her a small shake, and she narrows her eyes.

A moment later, she brings her knee up, and Dean barely has a thought to spare for _how did you not see that coming _before he’s doubled over, overwhelmed by pain.

“You asshole,” she hisses, bending low to his ear. “You fucking _coward_. I don’t know what dumbass Winchester drama you’ve got going on in your stupid fucking head, but Cas’s thing with you isn’t new. Cas has suffered for _years _ because of you, all in the hopes that one day, when you got over yourself and saw it all for what it was, it would be worth it. And after everything you’ve put him through, you’re telling him _no.”_

“You don’t know a damn thing about it,” Dean wheezes — because jesus-fucking-_c__hrist, _are Jo’s knees made of granite? — and she lets out a humorless laugh.

“I know more than _you. _ Just because people are young doesn’t always mean they don’t know what they want, or what they’re capable of, and I’m sick of people excusing all kinds of bullshit where Cas is concerned, especially yours. If you want him? He’s there, and he wants you. If you don’t, then stop _bitching _ and _sulking _and attacking your friends over breakfast because you can’t handle the fact that you might lose something you said you didn’t want!”

Jo stomps off, muttering about stupid-ass adults who think they know _so _much better, and Dean gingerly stumbles back to his chair, gritting his teeth.

The silence around him is deafening.

“Dean—” Sam eventually starts, and Dean holds up a hand, glaring.

“Not in the fucking mood, Sam.”

Sam gives him a pained look, but stays quiet.

About thirty seconds later, Valencia arrives, surveying the table for a moment before letting out a disappointed sigh.

“_Every time,_” she mutters, and plunks into her chair.

Dean doesn’t say a goddamn word for the rest of breakfast.

In the end, Cas really does it.

Dean can’t say anything — they’re still not talking, and even if they were, Dean _knows _it would be a dick move to tell Cas not to go when he can’t promise him anything will change here — but it feels wrong and he’s pissed about it and every time he tries to hassle Sam to talk him out of it, Sam gets upset and ends up walking out.

And okay, maybe Dean’s starting it, both the argument and the upset, but Sam’s not the one suffering, here.

So, yeah, there’s nothing he can do to stop it — but he still doesn’t really think it’s going to happen until Sam awkwardly informs him Cas’ll be riding out in the morning.

“Seriously?”

Sam sighs, weary.

“Look. I know you guys are — whatever, right now, but he’s going, whether you like it or not, and he doesn’t actually know how long he’ll be staying. So — you might not see him for a while. And if you wanted to say goodbye . . .”

Of course Dean doesn’t want to say _goodbye. _ Dean _never _ wants to say goodbye. Things are shit with them, right now, but he knows they’ll be worse if Cas leaves. He needs to know Cas is _there, _ somewhere on the castle grounds, that he’s okay even if he’s not great, that he’s safe, that he’s home — that things will get _better, _and someday, somehow, they’ll be okay again.

Sam can say Cas is coming back, but Cas leaving for some indeterminate length of time kind of makes Dean feel like things will _never_ be okay again.

Still, he’s up early, and he surreptitiously watches Cas eat his breakfast before it’s time for all his friends to follow him out to the courtyard. Sam and Val eat with him, too, and they all walk with the rest of the group while Dean skulks along behind, not quite numb and definitely not sure what to say to Cas.

He lets Cas say his goodbyes, looking away when he nearly squeezes the life out of Sam and Valencia, and it all takes so long he almost chickens out.

But then Meg sidles up behind him and gives him a shove, the crowd magically parting for him, and Cas looks startled to see Dean stumble forward.

“You came." Dean feels like the worst person ever at the surprise in his voice.

“Yeah.” He coughs. “Didn’t know when I’d see you again, so.”

Cas looks down.

“I don’t know, either.”

They’re silent a beat, and Dean shrugs.

“Was surprised to hear you were going at all. You didn’t exactly like it, last time.”

Cas nods.

“Anna abolished the hat rules.”

Dean has to crack a smile at that.

“No bonnets?”

Cas’s gaze flicks back to his, unmistakable warmth there, and his mouth curves.

“No bonnets,” he agrees, and Dean has to look away, this time.

“Gonna be weird, not seeing you,” he says awkwardly, and when Cas doesn’t say anything, he musters his courage and looks up.

Cas just looks _sad._

“Maybe,” he says. Dean nods.

“And you’re sure you wanna go?” he can’t stop himself from asking. The sad expression turns forlorn.

“No.” Cas hesitates, and then, with brutal honesty: “I don’t want to leave you.”

Dean’s throat constricts.

“Then don’t. You don’t have to. I know it sucks right now, but if you give it time—”

“If I give it time, I’ll love you more,” Cas interrupts, pained. “The last seven years have proven that.”

“The last seven years don’t count,” Dean protests, a little panicked, and Cas’s shoulders slump.

“That does seem to be the root of our disagreement,” he says quietly.

“Cas.”

“You’re not happy, either, Dean. I might as well go. Maybe it won’t help, but maybe it will, and that — that’s worth it.”

Dean’s not sure anything is worth Cas _leaving, _but he doesn’t know how to say that.

“You’re comin’ back, though,” he says instead, leaving off the _soon_? he desperately wants confirmed. Cas opens his mouth readily, gaze confident, and in his mind’s eye Dean can practically see his lips shape the words.

_Of course._

They don’t come.

A flicker of surprise crosses Cas’s face, and then he looks down.

“This is my home,” he murmurs.

Dean’s stomach drops like a stone.

“Cas—”

“May I hug you?” Cas interrupts. “Since I don’t — I don’t know how long it will be. I know things are — different, now, but if it’s all the same—”

“Of course,” Dean says thickly, trying and failing to quell his anguish. His blood feels thin, streaking through his veins too fast, and his skin is crawling.

_Don’t go._

He opens his arms, and Cas steps into them, familiar and perfect and leaving Dean behind.

“I will miss you,” he whispers.

In that moment, Dean knows he was right to be afraid of this.

He wraps his arms tight around Cas, all the hesitation of the last several fraught, unhappy months gone.

“Gonna miss you, too,” he mumbles, brushing his mouth against the side of Cas’s hair, and he feels Cas’s fingers dig in a little harder.

“More than anything,” Cas adds, barely audible, and Dean shuts his stinging eyes.

“More than anything,” he echoes, and Cas makes this quiet, awful little noise that almost sounds like a sob.

When he finally pulls his way, his face is wet. Dean can’t stop himself from reaching out, gently thumbing away the tears.

“Have a safe trip,” he says, a little hoarse. “Look after the guards.”

Cas’s lips twitch, and then his face crumples as he turns it into Dean’s hand.

“I will.”

And then, after one more long look, Cas’s face damp against his palm —

Dean lets him go.

Dean avoids Sam’s gaze — Sam’s fucking brokenhearted puppy gaze, that is — and Valencia’s pensive frown and retreats immediately to his room. If anybody wants him to go to practice that badly, they can come get him themselves.

He’s surprised and wary to find a certain redhead in tow once he makes it to the stairs, but she doesn’t say anything until they reach his room.

“How’re you holding up?” she asks him, flopping into the chair. Dean grunts, yanking off his boots and heading straight for the bed.

“It’s been like, five minutes, Charlie.”

“Yeah, well. If you think you feel bad now — if you felt bad the last few months — then I can promise you it’s about to get worse.”

“Wow, thanks. I wondered why we were suddenly talking again, but I think I get it.”

She sighs.

“For the record, this is totally, one-hundred-percent your fault, but whatever happens, we’re besties — well, after Sam and Cas—”

“That your list or mine?”

She cracks a smile.

“What do you think?”

“Well, I don’t really rank you-”

“Like hell you don’t. _Anyway, _that’s not the point. The point is, you’re gonna need a friend, so even though I’m still pissed at you — moreso, now, if I’m being honest — here I am.”

“Real comforting,” he says dryly. “But I’m good.”

She studies him.

“What do you think it’s going to be like?”

“What do I think _what’s _going to be like?”

“Cas being gone. You’ve always done the leaving. We all have. Honestly — I kinda prefer it that way. I know we all act like Jo’s some rebellious teenager, but — can you imagine how much that sucks? Watching everybody go and having to sit here and _wait_?”

“How Ellen parents isn’t really my business,” he mumbles, though he knows what Charlie’s saying. Dad’s sent him out on missions and shit since he hit puberty, and while that might have been rough for a kid, being away from home and dealing with responsibility and the harsh reality of violence, Dean doesn’t kid himself he would have been totally happy staying behind.

“This isn’t about Jo,” Charlie says seriously. “You weren’t here, when Cas ran away, Dean. You’ve got no idea.”

“Because I was stuck _by myself _in Lettra,” he points out, but she just shakes her head.

“Trust me, missing people when you’re in a strange place is awful, but it’s totally different than seeing all the places they _should _ be, but _aren’t. _ Your home feels less like your home. All the people you know who are missing them, too? They feel less like themselves. And Sam — Sam’s been way more patient with you than he should be, and he’s got Val now, but — he was a mess after Cas ran away. Mate drama aside, that’s your brother’s best friend. Cas is like _his _little brother. And you practically sent him away.”

Dean doesn’t look at her.

“First of all, I did what I had to do. Cas is doin’ what he thinks he has to do. That’s all there is to this. Second? I think I liked it better when you _weren’t _talking to me.”

She sighs.

“I’m just saying, Dean. Do you actually know what you’re doing here? For real? Because I don’t think you do, and I don’t want to have to watch you figure it out.”

“I know what I’m doing,” he snaps. “I don’t need you or Jo or anybody else tellin’ me I’m an asshole, that I’m hurting Cas, that I’m losing out. That him being gone is — is gonna — Charlie, _I know all of that. _But this is the best I can do.”

Charlie gets out of the chair and comes to sit next to him, eyes sad.

“I know you think that,” she says, and he braces himself for the rest of the lecture.

It doesn’t come. Charlie simply leans over and gives him a hug.

“And I think you’re an idiot,” she continues. “But I’m here for you if you need me.”

Dean doesn’t dignify that with a response, but he does hug her back, pitifully grateful for the comfort.

He doesn’t realize how right Charlie is, how unprepared he is for Cas being gone.

That it’s worse than he could or did imagine.

Of course, he doesn’t have any other choice but to live with it, so that —

That is what Dean does.

If Cas was touched and surprised by the numerous, heartfelt farewells of the Edenish court, his reception upon returning astounds him.

Lady Eleanor strips off her gloves and throws both them and her reticule at a nearby servant before actually _engulfing _Castiel in a hug, clasping his face in her hands and bussing both cheeks and forehead.

“You poor, sweet, _precious _child. How grateful I am to have you returned to us!” she nearly sobs.

Cas thinks he sees his sister wince, but then he’s being dragged back down into Lady Eleanor’s scrupulously covered but nonetheless abundant bosom, and he can’t be sure.

“I’m very glad to see you, too, Lady Eleanor,” he manages, and it’s not entirely a lie. Lady Eleanor is full of absurd ideas, to his mind, but she has a kind heart, and Castiel was rather fond of her by the time he left Eden.

Lady Eleanor’s eyes well up, and she kisses his forehead again.

“You are safe again, my darling,” she says fiercely. “It is all over, now, and you need never relive your horrors here in Novak Castle’s walls.”

Dumbstruck, Castiel can do naught but nod.

He receives many similar reassurances, and he doesn’t think he’s ever seen members of the Edenish court so blatantly emotional.

Even Rachel stiffly clasps his shoulders, gaze intent.

“I had known it would come to this, since I saw firsthand how the Lawrencians are when that dreadful girl came to hover at our King’s side. Great warriors they may be, but there is no dignity of soul to be found in that country. I am glad to see you returned to us at last.”

“I — thank you?” Cas says, astounded, and she nods shrewdly.

“I will help you, Castiel. We all will. You will never be mistaken for anything other than an omega prince of Eden again.”

This is not necessarily a desirable outcome, for Cas — rather, he wanted peace and quiet and family while he sorted himself out — but Rachel has her own ideas about things, and much as Valencia may have enjoyed baiting her, Cas has never felt the effort worth it.

He just sort of nods, and Rachel gracefully steps aside to let one of the young omegas who’d snubbed him for being divorced weep pretty tears at how misused he’s been and how in Eden, he shall never be made to suffer again.

It all makes Cas very self-conscious. He assumes the letters he sends to Anna are entirely private, but as much as he supposes it’s nice that all of these people are so upset on his behalf, he is a little taken aback that they know why he’s here.

Cas is ushered to his room to freshen up before his audience with the King — though Anna’s snuggled him three days grimy from a forest simulation before, so he’s hard-pressed to think she cares — and there, waiting for him, is Hester.

She wastes no time getting him out of his traveling clothes — eyeing the trousers with blatant disdain — and into fresh, sky blue robes.

“They’re not grey,” he stupidly comments, so surprised is he, and is immediately afraid she’ll remember his situation and put him in something dour and unflattering.

The bow of her mouth purses.

“Well, of course not. There’s been a great deal of — talk, and that heathen on the throne _denounced _ that laughable sham of a union — under the most horrific of circumstances, no less! — and his barbaric son abducted you away from our benevolent king’s protection to inflict appalling degradations of person upon you — ” She stops, taking a deep breath, and sniffs. “Such blatant abuse of one of our treasured princes can hardly be called a _divorce._”

Cas stares, struggling to process as she steers him to a vanity and begins combing out his hair.

“What the King’s brother was thinking when he condoned such a union . . .” she mumbles, hands surprisingly gentle given how agitated she sounds. “It was greed, plain and simple. But a Lawrencian barbarian could never be a proper alpha, certainly not deserving of an Edenish omega, let alone a _prince, _and time has only proven it to be so.”

It takes him a moment to realize she’s referring to Dean, and he opens his mouth to correct her, to explain that as devastating as his rejection is, Dean is a good man. Even if Jo is right, and Dean — ‘led him on’ — it hardly makes him a barbarian.

(And he’s plenty deserving of an Edenish omega prince, if only he happened to want one.)

But Hester isn’t finished.

“I failed you, Prince Castiel,” she says with a heavy sigh. “I knew he was not a worthy alpha. Your behavior during your heat — the very touch of him corrupts. But I have always believed purity is intrinsic to an omega, and your alpha’s failures are not your own. I should have fought harder to protect you. I thought I honored my king and my alpha in my discretion, but I had a duty to you as well.”

Hester looks _so _miserable Cas falters in his outrage, silenced by uncertainty as she sets down the comb and reaches for a flower barrette.

“But you have not been lost to us, after all, Prince Castiel,” she continues quietly. “We are all so very glad to have you back, and you may rest assured you will be taken care of as you should be, here. And that we know who is at fault for what you have endured.”

Cas stares at the reflection of the bright pink rosebuds in the mirror, utterly at a loss.

“Um. Thank you, Hester.”

She smiles, tremulous, and Cas does his best to return it.

“It will be an _honor _to serve as your omegasmaid.”

The half-smile freezes on his face.

He is going to _kill _Anna.

“You assigned Hester to be my omegasmaid,” he complains first thing, even as he wraps around his sister like a tree sloth.

Anna pats his head.

“She felt awful for letting that big bad alpha carry you off to further despoil you,” Anna says, sounding unacceptably amused. “She came to see me half a dozen times once I announced you were coming home.”

“I thought she was a cycle attendant.”

“Ah, yes, but Hester is an omega of many talents, and felt she could and should be of great service to you.”

“I’d rather she didn’t,” he grumbles.

“Cas!” He can hear the smile in Anna’s voice. “She took leave of her alpha for you.”

“And because I understand what a sacrifice that is for her, I _really _wish she hadn’t done it.”

He reluctantly pries himself away from her, frowning.

“I appreciate everyone’s concern, but — did you really have to tell everyone how things ended with Dean?”

Anna’s face goes a little funny.

“Ah.” She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “Yes. That. We should probably talk about that.”

He sighs.

“I . . . am grateful for their support, but it’s — Anna, it’s embarrassing. The whole reason I came here was to try and — adjust. But if everyone treats me like this, and they keep talking about Dean, I — I don’t know if it will be that much easier.”

Anna looks guilty.

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking of it, when I invited you — I really thought it would be better for you, to have some time apart.”

“I hoped,” Cas returns grimly. “Much as I’m pleasantly surprised by getting to wear color, the things people are saying about Dean are — are _awful._”

She nods slowly.

“Yes. Yes, the people of Eden are — very angry, with him.”

Cas’s cheeks warm.

“There must be better things to worry about than the fact that I was rejected.”

Anna’s nose wrinkles.

“That’s . . . not what they’re angry about. They, ah, they don’t know anything about that.”

Cas blinks.

“Of course they do, why else would they—”

“The re-negotiations,” she explains gently. “Dean didn’t remarry you. But he did take you back with him to Lawrence. I didn’t realize, when you went back, that it would be so significant to the people, but — they’re furious. There’s a lot of tension here towards Lawrence because of it. A lot of them are angry with me, as well.”

“But I chose to go back. It had nothing to do with you—”

“Not in their eyes. They don’t think I should have let him take you to Lawrence until there was at least a promise of marriage. They thought there _was._”

Cas looks down.

“Well, they’re not the only ones.” He swallows. “Still — at the end of the day, Dean shouldn’t — he shouldn’t have to be married to me if that isn’t what he wants.”

Anna’s mouth thins.

“Yes. Well. That’s a different subject, I suppose. The point is — here in Eden, they see it as Dean abandoning you to go to Lettra and leaving you vulnerable and unprotected. And when danger had you in its clutches, the kingdom banished you to hostile lands, branded you a trollop, and humiliated you and Eden in the process. And then, instead of trying to rectify any of it, Dean stole you from your home with all manner of false promises and took you back to Lawrence to use you as his mistress.”

“I wish he had,” Cas mutters. “It would have been something, at least.”

Anna scowls.

“You don’t mean that.”

“Maybe not,” he agrees, though he remains unconvinced. “That’s a very creative interpretation of events.”

“Yes, well. It was all very scandalous. And you grew up so beautiful, everything a royal omega ought to be — well, except for your appalling manners — so it’s a somewhat irresistible fantasy. And besides — you know how proud we are, here. I should have realized the people would be upset by it.”

“It’s absurd.”

“It is, but be glad they’ve taken your side, at least.”

“I don’t _want _ them to take my side. I don’t want there to _be_ sides. I — sometimes, I admit, I feel — _angry. _ Almost unbearably so. But — no one is wrong here. Except, possibly, me. You told me — even Bobby told me — that love typically generates suffering and there are some people I shouldn’t fall in love with and I did it _anyway._” He shakes his head, thinking of Dean’s face when Cas left him at the gate, of the way Sam had carefully studied the book in his hands and quietly asked Cas not to leave the night before he went. Of Jo’s anger, and Charlie’s unhappy eyes as she hugged him tight and told him not to be a stranger. “I made everyone unhappy, you know. I was — I was selfish.”

“You were _not,_ ” Anna snaps, startling in her vehemence. “You couldn’t help yourself. And — I know you love him, Cas, but in some ways, the people aren’t wrong. Dean didn’t do right by you at all. He — I won’t say he _used _ you, but he gave you every reason to think he returned your feelings. He’s beautiful and charming and while now I’m furious over it — he was good to you, Cas. More than. I’m not sure how you could be expected _not _ to fall in love with him, under the circumstances, and — and he should have _known _that.”

“Perhaps,” he says doubtfully, and she narrows her eyes.

“I am a goddamn _King, _Cas, and if I say he did poorly by you, that he was irresponsible and negligent and entirely the author of you, his, and everyone else involved’s misery, then you may be assured I am right.”

Cas makes a face.

“That was a very Michael thing,” he points out, petulant.

“It was an Edenish thing,” she retorts. “We always think we know better. Except in this case, I do.”

There’s no arguing with her when she gets like this, he knows, so he doesn’t bother.

“What about you?” he asks instead. “You and Bela — blood-bonded. Isn’t this difficult for you?”

Much of the fire leaves Anna’s eyes.

“Yes. Well. It is what it is.”

“It gets better, right?”

She hesitates.

“Yes. It gets better. It’s always difficult, though.” She studies him. “It shouldn’t be as bad, for you, but I don’t know that that helps anything.”

“Not really,” he admits. “Ellen wasn’t sure what the doctors had here, so she sent me with plenty of tea for the pining sickness and rejection.”

“Tea?” Anna looks hopeful. “How plenty is plenty? If I have to chew on another piece of special, coated tree bark—”

“_Bark_?” Cas repeats, appalled. “You chew on _bark_?”

“Cas. How plenty is plenty?”

“Enough,” he assures her hastily. “And I’ll write asking her to send more.”

Anna’s lips quirk.

“I knew I was right to tell you to come back home.”

“You _invited _me—”

“An invitation from the King is as good as a command,” she protests loftily. “On which note — may I invite you to have a snack with me?”

He narrows his eyes at her impish grin.

“Have your cooks managed to make a proper honeycake yet?”

Anna just laughs.

“If they haven’t, I’m sure they will.”

Despite Anna’s busyness and the terrifyingly well-meaning intentions of Hester and the court, it quickly becomes clear to Cas that he made a good decision in coming here.

Eden has rebounded quickly; where Cas’s confinement to the castle last time had more to do with lingering unrest and the chaos of rebuilding efforts than his unacceptability as a divorced omega, neither restriction applies this time. There’s a wardrobe full of the kinds of colorful, elaborate robes newly eligible omegas and female betas wear to court, and a stocked jewelry chest in his chambers that wasn’t there last time. Hester politely-but-firmly attempts to convince him the feather-stone must be done away with; Cas is less superstitious now than he was at fourteen, but rejected or not, he’s worn the feather-stone nearly as long as he was married, and he refuses.

She does convince him to retire the worn leather tie and have it set as a pendant, but even once it’s on a shiny silver chain, she applies no end of pressure to get him to at least put it back in the box.

“It’s so _bleak, _Prince Castiel. You’re so young and beautiful, you should be wearing the sort of things that show it to advantage!”

“If I’m really that beautiful, I shouldn’t need to,” Cas grumbles. Cas likes how the feather stone looks. He likes the way it catches light, and he has fond memories of Dean toying with the leather tie when they’d sit together, fingers tickling at Cas’s neck.

So Hester huffs and contents herself with putting all manner of circlets and flowers in Cas’s hair — “The forward young omegas in town are wearing _beta_ _hats, _now that it’s legal, if you can believe!” — dressing him in some elaborate ensemble he often needs further assistance getting into, and then insists on reacquainting Cas with his home.

“Of course, it’s still Eden at it’s heart — all the things it means to be _Edenish — _but it’s fast becoming King Anna’s realm, in its way.”

Cas spent all his time at the castle or in the barracks, as a child, so he couldn’t speak to the differences, but Hester and half a dozen beta guards take him out to the town or on day trips every other day, almost, and he’s surprised at just how _vibrant _everything is.

He can see evidence of the war; scorched rubble being cleared away, half-built structures and many more that seem suspiciously new and tidy, vacant fields where spring should have brought new life, some of them blackened and pitted.

“It was both of them,” Hester explains quietly. “Prince Lucifer would stop at nothing for the crown. King Michael would stop at nothing to stop him, but he was also not above punishing those who stood with his brother.”

Still, despite the scars, the towns and villages are busy and cheerful; it’s a little overwhelming, at times — he was never used to going out so much in Lawrence — but Cas enjoys himself immensely. The people are openly curious — though unlike at the castle, most of them keep their prying questions and personal comments to themselves — but they’re also kind. On numerous occasions, children come scurrying up, offering sweets and flowers to him with quiet well wishes before returning to beaming parents’ sides.

“To new beginnings,” one little girl says, dropping a rose-shaped chocolate in his palm. A tired, but warm-eyed young man inclines his head as she darts back to him, and Cas supposes Eden is a fitting place for him to be, after all.

Another place Hester likes to take him is on tours of the nearby estates, particularly the gardens. It is a testament to the injustice in Eden’s society that every single one of these grand estates and their gardens belong to ‘very respectable alphas of breeding,’ as she often repeats, but Cas enjoys the trips nonetheless.

Though he feels a little rude; they always seem to run into the owners, at which point these alphas are obliged to sit down to tea with them. They’re all pleasant enough — he particularly enjoys the twinkling-eyed Lord Balthazar, though afterwards, Hester sits very stiffly in the carriage and says, “That was a mistake. He’s a favorite schoolmate of Anna’s, else I’m sure his scandals would have long since resulted in his exile.” Cas thinks this is a little unfair, given that Lord Balthazar just supplied him with no less than half a dozen ridiculous, bawdy tales to put in his letters back to Lawrence _and _promised to look into acquiring more books by the _Warrior’s Angel _author next time he travels out of Eden. The pink-cheeked bookseller in town had informed Castiel that she was not allowed to stock that author, or genre — but overall, stilted tea conversations with strange women and men is awkward, no matter how nice they are, and it always makes him a little homesick.

He took it for granted, every face he was likely to encounter being a familiar one.

A month into his visit, Cas feels much better than when he arrived. He still gets lonely — nights are the _worst_, and even dinner is sometimes difficult, so different from what he was used to — but toward the end of the month, he realizes he tends to have bad _days, _ which means there are good ones, too_._

It makes him hopeful.

Anna throws a ball at the beginning of May, to coincide with the May Day festivals going on in the towns and villages. Cas has come to realize the castle in Lawrence is a little strange for how infrequently it entertains large gatherings, and though Novak Castle is in chaos the week before the ball and Hester hounds him relentlessly about forgoing his feather stone for ‘just _one _night, Prince Castiel, _please,_’ he finds himself looking forward to it.

When the night comes, he is pleasantly surprised to meet a familiar face.

“Prince Castiel,” Naomi addresses him, and though it takes him a moment to place a voice he hasn’t heard in so many years, he whirls around once he has.

“Naomi!” She probably looks older than she did, but now that Cas is not a child, he is, if anything, surprised at how _young _she is. The formidable dictator of his childhood is sharp in her military uniform, auburn hair neatly bound, and faulty memory or not, he doesn’t think he’s ever seen her expression so relaxed.

She smiles wryly.

“You expected a withering old woman, didn’t you?”

He coughs.

“Not at all. I didn’t expect to see you. You weren’t here last time.”

“I was helping maintain order in some of the towns. But I was glad to hear you were well.” She surveys him. “You look like you remain well.”

“I — yes, I am, thank you. You are as well, I hope?”

“Very,” she says, smiling slightly. “No longer playing nursemaid to recalcitrant children.”

“I was _not_—” he starts with a huff, and Naomi chuckles.

“I was never suited to it, Castiel, any more than you were suited to being nursed. I’m glad to see you again, in any case. Though perhaps sorry for the circumstances. He had seemed like a good man.”

It takes him a moment to realize when, exactly, the last time he saw Naomi was.

“Thank you,” he blurts out, and she arches a brow. “For what you did. I didn’t understand, at the time, and you could have pressed the issue — I know, above anything, you are loyal to Eden — but you didn’t, and I am grateful.”

Her eyes flick warily to Hester.

“Anna is aware, and she is grateful, as well,” he hastens to add, and she relaxes, though her lips purse.

“I hope that had nothing to do with my promotion.”

“I’m sure it didn’t.” If Cas recalls, Naomi has a unique knack for corralling any individual into even the most odious of tasks, though he doesn’t necessarily mean it as a compliment and either way, he’s pretty sure it would be rude to say.

Her eyes twinkle, almost like she can read his mind.

“Indeed. Well, I will leave you to your revelry. Stay well, Castiel.”

Cas bids her goodbye, feeling good about the encounter overall; although, Hester seems vaguely agitated afterward.

Of course, then the dancing begins — it seems all the alphas and occasional beta Hester maneuvered him into having to greet requested a dance — and past being agitated, Hester becomes horrified.

“You can’t dance, Prince Castiel!” she whispers urgently, face ashen. “The ball has been in planning for _ages, _ how could you not have told me you couldn’t _dance?!_”

Cas blinks. That would explain how vaguely taken aback Lord Violet had been when she’d danced with him; he’d wondered if she had some sort of impairment.

“Did I not do it right?”

Hester swallows, palm pressed over her heart.

“You didn’t do it at _all!_ Quick, pretend to faint, I’ll make sure you’re excused from further dancing. Oh, I hope none of the other alphas noticed!”

Cas refrains from rolling his eyes — the opinions of Edenish alphas on his dancing or anything else are completely irrelevant to him — but he humors her by feigning some vague, unexplained illness, and perches in a cushioned chair at the edge of the dance floor, content to watch the others and converse with the occasional passerby who stops to keep him some company.

By the end of the night, after observing just how different Edenish dancing is from Lawrencian — he freely admits Hester was right.

He can’t dance _at all._

Hester helps him out of his robes — necessary — and into his pajamas — unnecessary — but after her usual fussing about his room, reminding him of this or that plan for tomorrow, she stops next to the bed.

“I never wish to pry, Prince Castiel—”

He politely holds back a snort.

“—but I can’t help but wonder what you and Sir Naomi were discussing?”

Cas squints.

“Did we discuss something?”

Hester’s face twitches, briefly looking exasperated, before it smoothes.

“Oh, well, I believe so. You thanked her?”

“Yes. She did me a kindness last time I saw her.”

Hester’s brows lift.

“Last time you saw her? At — at your wedding?”

“Yes?”

For a long time, Hester doesn’t speak, brow pinched together as she thinks, and Cas wonders if he can convince her to go do her thinking in her own room.

“May I ask what kindness she did?”

Cas hesitates. It seems personal, even if it doesn’t need to be a secret anymore, but there is a part of him that wonders if Hester will give him fewer tragic looks if she knows. He’s mostly able to ignore them, but they’re still annoying, and he gathers Hester is actively distraught over Michael’s decision to marry him to Dean. _You were much too young, _ she often says. _Everyone thought so, not that they dared say it. And now look what has befallen you!_

“Ah. Well, on a wedding night, one is supposed to—”

Hester looks alarmed.

“I’m quite aware!” she says hastily. He shrugs, trying not to smile.

“For marriages like mine, there are supposed to be witnesses, from both sides. Naomi was Eden’s.”

There’s a strange sort of hope dawning in Hester’s eyes.

“And — and what is it she did?”

“Dean felt I was too young. He thought it would be, um, unkind to me, to consummate the marriage.” For all that has happened, Cas remains warmed by this action. It is one of many things that prove Dean is neither a barbarian or even dubious in character, and he wishes he could make the Edenish people understand that.

Hester’s eyes grow wider.

“You — you don’t mean to say he _didn’t_?”

“No. Naomi lied, even though she was afraid.”

“Well, of course, she could have been executed, she could have — oh, but how brave and wonderful!”

“Yes. I had no idea what was happening, at the time — no one told me,” he adds, a little bitterly, “But I was grateful, later.”

“Of course, of course. You were much too young, everyone thought so.”

Cas tries not to laugh.

After a moment of awed silence, Hester deflates a little.

“I see his mercy extends only to children, though,” she remarks, a little savagely. “If only he had had the decency to leave you alone if he did not intend to keep you!”

Cas frowns at her, patience thinning.

“Dean is a good man, as you should have realized by now. Hester, the entire reason I _left _ Eden is _because _Dean views me as a child. He didn’t feel that he could want or love me in that way, which is why he didn’t marry me again.”

Hester stares blankly for a long moment, then sucks in a breath.

“Prince Castiel—” she starts, then lets out an odd, breathless laugh. “You speak so strangely, now that you’ve been in Lawrence, I swear it sounds as though you are saying . . .”

“What?” he mutters, wary.

“That you are — you remain a _virgin,_” she whispers, eyes searching, and he huffs.

“Unfortunately, not that it’s _anyone’s _business—”

He’s interrupted by her strangled cry of delight.

“Unfortunately — how can you say that, Castiel — do you know what this _means — _of course, some would question, but — but — is it possible that awful barbarian would attest to this?”

“Excuse me?”

“Would — _Prince Dean _—” she practically spits the words. “Attest to the fact that your marriage was never consummated?”

“Well, yes, I’m sure if I asked him to, but it’s embarrassing enough without everyone knowing—” Cas starts, but Hester leaps to her feet, grin manic.

“Oh — oh, how _wonderful — _he is an undeserving fool, of course, but — but how the fates have smiled on you, my prince!”

Cas does not consider the zero instances of Dean fornicating with him to be good fortune of any kind, but he grudgingly accepts that Hester is a bizarre, anti-orgasm menace, and if this makes her happy, there’s no sense complaining.

“Right,” he mumbles. “May I go to sleep now?”

He can’t believe he has to _ask._

Hester just nods distractedly, gathering her bag and patting his head before she heads to the door.

“Oh, yes, of course, an omega must always be well-rested. Oh, this is such lovely fortune, I’ll go to see your sister first thing in the morning . . .”

Cas sighs, waiting for her to shut the door before he dampens the candle. It will be more nuisance than news to Anna, but that’s certainly not _his _problem.

On that thought, he goes to sleep.

“Castiel,” Anna growls as soon as he responds to the summons to her study, curiously pushing the door open. “Shut the door.”

He shuts it.

“What’s wrong?”

Anna presses a palm to the sheaf of parchment before her, squinting at him.

“Can you explain to me,” she starts, unmistakably grumpy, “Why Hester was waiting outside my throne room first thing in the morning so she could inform me you were a _virgin_?”

Cas squints back.

“I don’t know. Didn’t she tell you?”

“She told me why she was there. She didn’t tell me why on _earth _ you thought that was a good idea to tell _her._”

“Hester’s very bothered by my circumstances, and I expressed my gratitude to Naomi last night. She asked. I assumed it would make her feel better.”

“Oh, it has,” Anna says, smiling brightly. “It makes her feel _so _ much better she all but insisted I — her _King — _write a damn letter to Lawrence demanding a written statement from Dean making it clear the marriage was never consummated.”

Cas makes a face.

“I regret telling her. There’s no point to that.”

Anna frowns.

“Cas, don’t you understand what she’s trying to do?”

“Not at all,” he says honestly, and she looks torn between surprise, amusement, and irritation.

“She’s trying to find you a new alpha.”

Cas’s chest goes cold.

“I’m sorry?”

“Asking a fortune for your wardrobe, making you up to go out, taking you to meet all those alphas — and now this — she intends to see you married and possibly mated to someone she thinks is worthy.” Anna snorts. “Sorry, someone her _King _thinks is worthy.”

Cas looks back, stunned.

“You’re joking.”

“Not at all. I assumed you knew and were humoring her for the garden tours.”

“I am very partial to those, yes, but — I don’t want a new alpha.”

Cas is doing better, certainly, but he is absolutely not ready for that. He’s not even ready to _think _about that. He’s not sure he ever will be.

Anna leans back in her chair, considering him.

“Maybe not now. And maybe not an alpha at all.” She pauses. “But maybe you will want something with someone, someday. Dean’s not the only person in the world.”

_But he’s the best, _Cas almost says. He doesn’t, though; Anna’s not as angry at Dean as the rest of Eden, but she still has her opinions, and he’s tired of arguing about it.

“Maybe. But right now, I don’t.”

“No. And it’s certainly your choice,” she adds. “But there’s not really any harm in meeting people. Making friends. You didn’t know you wanted Dean when you first met him. For many people, these sorts of things have to — _grow._”

Cas scowls.

“Well, it’s not going to,” he snaps. “And I don’t want it to. And if you write that letter, I’m running away to Crowley’s castle.”

It’s an empty threat and they both know it, but Anna holds up a hand, placating.

“Alright. You’re right; you haven’t even been here two months. It’s probably better if you focus on your gardens and flirting your way into getting contraband literature.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Balthazar and I are very good friends, Cas, and I was recently admonished for hiding my gorgeous little brother away. Of course, Balthazar’s also a scoundrel, so if you do consider someone, it had better not be him. I have no idea what Hester was thinking.”

“I have no designs on Balthazar and vice versa,” Cas complains, and Anna grins.

“I know. I’m only teasing. Really, though — enjoy yourself, Cas, whatever that means. If you need me to do something about Hester, let me know.”

Cas sighs.

“If it gets to that, I’m afraid I’ll push her out a window first,” he mutters darkly, and feels far less guilty about it when he sees how Anna laughs.

Anna must have a talk with Hester, because she returns to Castiel a little sullen and petulant, but her temper gradually abates as the days pass; Cas still meets a suspicious number of alphas here and there, but she doesn’t broach the topic of his virtue ever again, and they settle into their pleasant routine once more.

Sam’s letter in the second month includes a tentative inquiry as to when Cas might be coming back. Cas misses him and all the others, desperately, and on mail day, a part of him wants to ride out immediately —

But he’s doing _well _here. He feels better, so long as he doesn’t think about Lawrence, and there’s enough to distract that not thinking about Lawrence and the situation with Dean only gets easier. Yes, there are mornings or afternoons or nights or whole days when all he can think about is what he’s left behind, but it’s not all the time, not like it was in Lawrence. Something happens, or Cas will sit alone with his thoughts too long, and he’ll find himself aching in such a way that has nothing to do with pining sickness, but then the moment passes and something else calls his attention, and the ache sinks into the background.

So when Sam writes, he _does _think about it — but still, he knows he’s not ready to go back. He knows, in his bones, that if he goes back to Lawrence now and sees Dean again, anything he’s achieved the last couple of months will be as if it never was.

Which perhaps means he hasn’t achieved very much at all, but the bad days just get fewer, and Cas feels much better, and that is enough of an improvement that despite his guilt, he tells Sam he doesn’t know.

The truth is, as difficult as it was to say goodbye, as much as Cas understands, on some level, that reality will set in and being away from home will get _harder _ instead of easier, a part of him wonders if he _will_ go back.

Most days, he’s sure of it; he can’t picture being in Eden forever, as nice as everyone is. He doesn’t belong here, and while the restrictions are fewer than the last time he was here, they’re still a nuisance. He hates spending two hours twice a week doing watercolors in the garden with Rachel, and he hates that the books Balthazar got him mysteriously disappeared from under his mattress and Hester claims to know nothing about it, and while Anna’s arranged a practice room for him, he hates the feeling that he’s falling behind or losing his edge. And he hates that, as fond as he’s becoming of even the most obnoxious courtiers, he still stubbornly misses the company he kept in Lawrence.

(He misses Dean. He doesn’t think about it, but he feels it acutely, in vast and unnameable ways.)

But there was a moment, when he said goodbye to Dean, when Dean _asked _if he’d come back, like there was ever any question of Cas staying away for good — that something in Cas paused, like maybe there was.

Like he suddenly realized that, by deciding to leave in the first place, there was automatically a possibility he _might not._

It was frightening, and he doesn’t give it much consideration, but sometimes — when the letters press him to come home, tease about coming to see _him _now that the beta hats are gone — that same pause happens again and Cas wonders.

Because at the end of the day, Cas _wants _to go home, desperately.

He just isn’t sure he _can._

Even if he goes back to Lawrence — things will never be as they were. If Cas has fallen out of love, what will it be like? Will they not have sleepovers? Will they still have them, the way he does with Sam and Valencia? Will Cas get a place at Dean’s table, or will he spend meals with his barrack-mates? Will Dean train with him?

The idea that those things _won’t _happen . . . Cas isn’t sure if it’s because he’s still so in love with Dean, or if it’s because Dean’s his best friend, but it feels like losing something.

And if they do happen — how can Cas avoid falling in love with him again?

If time and distance — a lot of both, at that — are what it will take to fall out of love, then what happens when he goes back? He hasn’t decided he doesn’t like Dean, after all. He hasn’t decided he likes someone else more. Nothing has really changed; Cas is just steadily reaching a place where it isn’t quite so painful.

Is that what’s supposed to happen? Is it that Cas gets _used _to being in love with Dean, but never stops? Is he simply here to accept that that is how it’s always going to be?

And suppose it works, suppose he loves Dean, in a quiet, undemanding way — what happens when Dean loves someone else, or his father makes him marry?

Can Cas honestly see that happen?

At the moment, the answer to that is a vehement, nauseated, resounding _no._

So because this awful event is probably _inevitable . . . _Cas determines that he can’t go back to Lawrence until he believes, with confidence, that he can stand to watch it happen.

It sounds like a reasonable condition — though he doesn’t share it with Sam or anyone else who asks — but after four months in Eden, Cas still finds the thought unbearable. If Dean meets someone, someone he wants to wake up snuggled into, someone he wants to eat all his meals with, elbows brushing, someone he’ll laugh with and play-wrestle in the courtyard after he’s done with practice — or if John finds another vile Princess Antonia, and Dean is forced into a miserable union and made to bear heirs and sacrifice his happiness in the name of duty —

Cas will have to leave again, and he’s not sure it will prove as effective the second time around.

In mid-July, his heat hits. He’s not surprised, exactly, but as soon as he realizes what’s happening, he asks Anna to send Hester on a week-long vacation, just to be safe.

It’s not really necessary, he finds. Even in the privacy of his room and having packed the necessities this time, Cas hasn’t had much interest in that sort of recreation; despite it being his heat, he’s surprised to find the pattern holds true.

He’s a little sad and disgruntled, and he makes a halfhearted effort to appease the likewise halfhearted urges, but if Hester had stayed and insisted on playing the flute for the two and a half days it lasted, Cas doesn’t think he would have been all that bothered.

It feels like good news, in some ways, but he asks the court doctor anyway, just to be sure.

“Your sister had said you may have scent-bonded to that Lawrencian?” the doctor prompts.

“Dean,” Cas says, just to be contrary, and the doctor sniffs.

“If the body believes itself to have a mate, and the mate has been absent long enough, the cycle is lightened. In blood-bonded pairs, it’s been known to skip, if the separation is long enough without the bond being broken.”

“Oh.”

“Once you’ve purged the bond, your cycle will return to normal,” she assures him, like it’s a good thing, and once again, Cas finds truth in his unguarded moments.

The day the bond is gone for good, he thinks, will not be entirely happy, even though it ought to be what he’s working toward.

His progress slows and halts as August passes, letters from Lawrence less gently teasing and more concerned.

_Do you want me to visit? _ Sam writes. _I didn’t really get to see Eden, properly, so it might be nice. It’d be good to see you. _ _It’d be good for you to see me, too; sometimes I think you’ll forget all about me, at this rate._

Cas thinks Sam meant it to be joking, else he wouldn’t have written it, but he reads the worry there. As always, he feels guilty, reading Sam’s letters. Sam is also his best friend, and Cas has left him behind to wait, when he knows firsthand how awful it is.

_Maybe in the fall, _ he answers noncommittally. _I warn you, we won’t get to spend much time together. Some rules have been relaxed, but being an omega here in Eden is still a tedious venture._

Two weeks later, Sam replies: _Then come home._

Cas pretends this, too, is in jest.

Dean, of course, never writes him. Cas thinks, if _he _wrote Dean, Dean would write him back, and countless times over the months he’s started to pen a letter.

He never gets far, though. He doesn’t know what to say to Dean. He supposes he ought to just say whatever he would have if everything that happened after New Year _hadn’t, _if this was a separation like all their others, but then Dean would write him the same kinds of letters he always did and Cas —

Cas doesn’t think he would get better like he’s supposed to.

It’s difficult, though. Sam and Jo and Charlie and everyone else don’t really mention Dean. He appreciates their sensitivity at first, even though he’s still disappointed every time the mail from Lawrence comes, but the more time that passes, the more frustrated he gets. Being completely cut off like this is — it’s _hard. _He knows Dean’s safe, unlike those long gaps during the wars, but to hear almost nothing is terrible.

It’s for the best, perhaps, but it doesn’t make him happy.

No, the distraction of change makes him less and less happy as fall approaches, and by September, he’s moody and sad and missing home with a vengeance. Eden’s irritants grow more powerful by the day, and when he discovers his _Warrior’s Angel _trilogy missing from the trunk he stashed it in, he’s so furious he makes Hester cry.

It fills him with a vicious satisfaction he’s ashamed of.

He apologizes to Hester, but when she explains away his behavior as the stresses of his situation and his increasing need of an alpha, he nearly does it all over again.

Cas doesn’t need an alpha. Cas doesn’t even need Dean, he doesn’t think.

He has no _idea_ what he needs, and that thought has begun to keep him up at night.

One thing he does know, though, is that he’s still not ready to go back to Lawrence.

Anna holds a fête for his birthday, but even with a celebration and a pile of gifts and endless well wishes from the court, Cas can’t help himself. He should be grateful, both for what he has here and what he has in Lawrence, but for some reason he wakes up on the day in a sour mood and it only seems to get worse. He can’t stop himself from thinking of how he spent his birthday last year, all the fear and anxiety he was feeling at the time, and how for a second year now, he’s being deprived of celebrating with _everyone _he loves.

How he doesn’t know how it will be next year.

And that, he thinks, is what bothers him the most. There’s just so much _uncertainty. _ It’s clearer by the day that his situation in Eden isn’t permanent, but he doesn’t know when he’ll feel comfortable returning to Lawrence; he feels caught between worlds and belonging to neither, and when he thinks of everything that’s happened — from the beginning, presenting as an omega and being sent away, and civil war in Eden and Anna becoming King, and ending up in exile in Hellenia and finally, all of _this — _ he realizes that he doesn’t _know. _ He doesn’t know anything. Whatever he thinks, whatever seems sure — it isn’t. He could be anywhere, for any reason, this time next year, and — and it’s _scary._

How is he supposed to know what to do? How can he even decide?

Cas wishes, with all his heart, that things could just go back to the way they used to be. If Lettra hadn’t gotten involved and Cas hadn’t been selfish, he could have had more than enough to make him happy, and he could have had it forever.

And maybe it wouldn’t be fair to Dean, but it wouldn’t be Cas’s fault, either, which means it wouldn’t be his responsibility to worry about, and he was _happy. _He was very happy.

He is afraid he is not going to be happy ever again.

“Why the long face, darling?”

Cas stiffens, glancing about in alarm.

“Hester doesn’t know I’m out here, does she?”

Balthazar chuckles, dropping to the bench beside him.

“If she did, you’d hardly be alone. I bribed a scullery boy to put your gift in your room, by the by.”

“Please tell me it’s a dirty book,” Cas grumbles. “I don’t care what kind. As long as its — smutty and lascivious and appalling, so I can leave it open-faced on my vanity for Hester to find.”

“Trouble in paradise?”

“Is there? I wouldn’t know,” he counters gloomily, and Balthazar’s smile softens.

“Much as I love sassy-you, Cassie, you seem positively despondent today. I confess I’ve no knack at all for listening, less so for being cried upon, but it’s your birthday and I’ll honor any request you can think of.”

“Drown me in the garden fountain,” Cas retorts, not thinking, and Balthazar lifts his brows.

“Bad day, indeed. Is this some—” he waves a hand “Omega thing? You’re hardly on the shelf at twenty-one, my dear. If you’re that bothered by it, I’m happy to marry you and let you fritter away my fortune on all the smutty novels your heart desires.”

In spite of himself, Cas cracks a smile.

“Don’t tempt me, Balthazar.”

He gives Cas a delighted look, exaggeratedly waggling his brows as he leans in.

“Well, this is progress indeed! So I tempt you, do I?”

“You think you tempt everyone.”

“But do I tempt _you_?” he teases. “It’s your birthday, so if you wish me to make you scandalous in your sister’s gardens — and doesn’t that sound like a bit of outrageous fun — I’ll gladly oblige.”

Cas gives the fountain in front of him a considering look, amused.

“Which do you think would upset Hester more? The dirty novel or catching you kissing me in the gardens?”

“The latter, no doubt. She finds me far filthier than any words on a page could be.”

Cas chuckles aloud at that, and Balthazar gives him a fond smile.

“You know, Cassie, you could do with more kissing in your life. You don’t look like you’ve had nearly enough of it, as lovely as you are.”

“Yes, well, Balthazar, you’re lovely as well, and you’ve clearly had too much kissing.”

Balthazar clutches his chest, looking wounded.

“Too much kissing!” he exclaims, aghast. “Heresy!”

“Good sense. Anna says you’ll get yourself into real trouble someday.”

Balthazar just smirks.

“Oh, does she? I’m not the one with a special cape designed to hide things like _bite _marks.”

Cas looks alarmed.

“Shush, Balthazar. And you’re not supposed to know about that.”

“Old friends, love,” he says. “As if she could hide it. Anyway, don’t change the subject. A little bit of trouble is good for the soul, and God knows your soul could do with some good. You’re all . . .” He wrinkles his nose. “_Sad, _again.”

“Did I ever stop?”

“Well, actually, _no. _Clearly you’re doing something wrong. I, on the other hand, am never sad.” He lifts his brows, gaze meaningful. “You see?”

“I see that you’re a fool,” Cas says dryly, and Balthazar shrugs.

“A _happy _fool.” He cocks his head. “Did that ape of yours ever kiss you?”

Cas’s humor fades, and he looks down.

“He’s not an ape, and you know I don’t like it when you call him that.”

“Barbarian, then.”

“Balthazar.”

Balthazar chuckles.

“Fine, your Prince, if you insist.”

Cas is quiet for a moment, contemplating how best to get out of answering.

“We were married seven years,” he says, and Balthazar nods.

“Ah. That’s a no then.”

Cas frowns, glancing up.

“How is that a _no_?”

“It clearly _implies _yes without actually saying it, and I don’t know you to be coy. Ergo, it’s a no, and you’re embarrassed by it.”

Significantly less amused, Cas grits his teeth.

“I’ll have you know Dean _did _kiss me.”

Balthazar scoffs.

“Once doesn’t count.”

“Yes, it _does. _And — and it was twice,” he adds, although he’s actually not sure if the first New Years kiss counts.

For all he knows, the second one doesn’t either.

His uncertainty must show, because Balthazar’s grin turns devious.

“So once, then. My, my. I can only guess at the circumstances.”

“It’s none of your business.”

“Well, that’s certainly true,” Balthazar agrees readily. “But my friend’s long face — on his birthday, no less! - is a bit of my business. I’ll tell you what, Cassie. You’re clearly on the outs with Hester, and you’ve received a deplorable lack of kisses in your time, so I charitably volunteer myself to brighten your day. Then you may let Hester know I’ve corrupted you. Perhaps she’ll chase me out of the castle with her flute. Wielding it as a weapon, mind, though enough of the Heat Lullabies and it might work either way.”

Cas studies him, not sure whether he’s kidding or not. If he isn’t, then Cas should clearly tell him no.

He glances around, planning an exit path just in case. He doesn’t think Balthazar is like April, but maybe you can never really know.

But then Balthazar catches his eye, smiling expectantly, and Cas sees that he is joking, that he’s come out here to try and cheer Cas up. Because, in his own words, they’ve become friends.

**

And then he thinks that Balthazar is considered to be rather handsome, enough that a number of noble men and women do things they’re not supposed to with him, and he makes Cas laugh and even when he’s being sarcastic, he is always, in his own way, kind.

And he wonders if Balthazar has a point. If maybe it’s a problem, that he’s only ever loved Dean; that he’s only ever kissed Dean, the way people do in books.

“Can we try?” he asks, not bothering to be self-conscious. Balthazar is not the sort to judge.

He does look surprised though, and then a little hesitant.

“I’d be a fool to say no,” he jokes, “But I feel a silly impulse to clarify that I’d follow through on that offer on the basis of friendship. You know I’m in no position to make promises to anyone.”

Cas nods.

“I know. But I — I _haven’t _seriously kissed anyone besides Dean, and only the one time. Maybe I should have more experiences than that.”

Balthazar relaxes, clapping Cas on the shoulder.

“Not a bad plan. In fact, it’s the sort of thing I’d do myself.” He pauses. “And I did, so I can vouch for it.”

Cas nods, suddenly a little nervous.

“I’ll be bad at it, I’m sure,” he warns him, and Balthazar laughs.

“You don’t get good without practice, darling.”

And then, without warning, he gently grasps Cas’s chin and presses their mouths together.

Balthazar is warm and smiling and smells faintly of spiced vanilla, a scent artificial enough that Cas decides he must wear perfume like the Lettrans, and it’s not as unpleasant as Cas was expecting. He startles a little when Balthazar smoothes a hand across his hair before gently tilting Cas’s head, tongue flicking out against his lips, but it’s not invasive, like it was with April. It’s dissimilar from what April did entirely, to Cas’s relief, and some of the tension leaves him as he tries to mirror the movements, parting his lips the way he’s pretty sure he’s supposed to and tentatively licking forward.

Balthazar makes a pleased sound, and Cas is pleased with himself in return; he decides this is probably a much better kiss than the one he gave Dean, because this time, he’s able to think back to all the kissing scenes between Diana and Ariel, and though he knows his movements must still be clumsy, he can focus not only on what exactly his mouth is doing, but also on placing his hands on Balthazar’s shoulder and in his hair, gently grasping. He pauses for breath, like they always do in the books, and then moves back into the kiss again, running his tongue along Balthazar’s lower lip the way he gathers one is supposed to.

He’s rather proud of himself for remembering all the things this time, though there’s a sharp pang as he wishes he’d had this composure when he kissed Dean. Maybe if Cas had done better, on New Years, Dean would have been more interested, later.

His movements falter just as Balthazar’s tongue slides against his, warm and wet, and suddenly all of Cas’s good feelings about participating in the kiss are gone. It’s a good kiss, he’s pretty sure, even if he isn’t fully upholding his end of the bargain, and it makes him feel nothing like what April did to him in the greenhouse had.

But Cas thought of Dean, and now that he has, he realizes that just because the kiss isn’t bad — is probably a very pleasant kiss — doesn’t mean it feels good _to _him. It may not feel like what happened with April, but it doesn’t make him feel anything like what happened with Dean, and Cas liked how he felt kissing Dean so very much, even if he was bad at it.

And — and even when talented, affectionate kissers like Balthazar are kissing him, all he can think about is kissing Dean on New Years, which just makes him realize _he’s never going to kiss Dean again._

Which isn’t news; Cas has known that for months and months, by this point.

And yet, he didn’t think of it in those terms, and now that he does, he realizes—

Balthazar abruptly pulls away, making a noise of dismay.

**

“Oh, dear — Cassie, why didn’t you say?”

Cas sniffs, hastily wiping at his eyes.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I didn’t — I didn’t think, I just—”

Balthazar guides him into a hug.

“Bad shoulders, like I said, but we’ll give them a go,” he murmurs, patting Cas’s back. “What seems to be the problem, darling?”

“I don’t want to kiss anyone but Dean,” Cas mumbles into his generously padded sleeve, miserable with embarrassment and also just plain _miserable, _and Balthazar clucks his tongue.

“Oh, thank the Gods. I thought it was me, and — well, not to brag, but I can assure you I’ve never gotten _this _reaction before.”

Cas snorts, despite his tears.

“No, it isn’t you. I — I’ve never wanted to kiss anyone who wasn’t Dean. I don’t know how to fix it.”

“Oh, Cassie. I wish I could tell you. For myself, I’ve never wanted to kiss just one person. It’s gotten me into heaps of trouble.”

Cas lifts his head, settling back with a pathetic sniff.

“I wish I were like you,” he mumbles thickly.

“You shouldn’t. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

“Of course not. But — it’s painful. I’m not supposed to go back home until I stop feeling this way, but — Balthazar, I’m afraid I never will. I don’t — I don’t know what to do.”

Balthazar gives him a helpless look.

“I don’t know either, Cassie. I wish I did.”

He sits with Cas another half-hour, occasionally patting his back and supplying three different handkerchiefs, but they mostly sit in silence and nothing is resolved by the time Hester finally tracks him down.

Cas feels worse than ever, and he excuses himself from the celebration early, citing a headache.

This same headache gets him out of meals and a trip into town the next day, and the next, and the next. Cas is heartsick and homesick and terrified of all the many unknowns he faces, and he feels at his wit’s end from it all.

And then, two weeks after his birthday, Anna’s guests from the Southern Isles arrive at Novak Castle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ** SPOILERS **
> 
> Brief non-romantic Cas/other kiss: Balthazar jokes about kissing Cas and creating a bit of a scandal in an effort to cheer Cas up; though he’s teasing, Cas wonders if it’s a problem that he’s never loved or kissed anyone besides Dean, and since a lot of people find Balthazar handsome and worth getting up to trouble with, Cas asks if they can try kissing. Balthazar reminds him that he can’t make him any promises, but Cas assures him he doesn’t want him to. They kiss, and Cas is proud of himself for having enough focus to mimic what he’s read in novels, but he wonders if things would be different if he’d given Dean a better kiss last time, at which point he realizes he won’t ever kiss Dean again and starts crying. They stop kissing, of course, Cas distraught at the realization that he doesn’t want to kiss anyone who isn’t Dean, and Balthazar lets him cry on his shoulder.


	19. Part XIX

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: mild references to violence (Cas reflecting on the deaths he's seen/brought about), strictly platonic courtship between Cas/Daphne (see end notes for details), implied asexual Daphne, please let me know if I forgot something.

At first, Cas doesn’t give the new visitors a second thought.

But then, the first week of October, he receives a letter from Sam that is very different from all his most recent letters. Cas is horrified to realize he took some measure of comfort in Sam’s obvious distress — it’s perverse and senseless, and Cas is clearly a terrible person for feeling that way — but this letter doesn’t sound sad at all. No, this letter is thrice as long as usual, detailing various training exploits and market hijinks and, worst of all, a _tea party._

There are plenty of things which might be called a tea party in Eden. Cas has attended so many since he returned that he has, in fact, lost count.

This was not a tea party like those tea parties, though.

No, all the knights at the castle apparently acquired dresses especially for this occasion. And floral hairpieces from Miss Deirdre. And Layla made a tower of honeycakes. And some of them have been working on a play for months, which they put on.

All of which Sam describes in _excruciating _detail, complete with small anecdotes about what feels like every single person Cas knows, stories that have him gritting his teeth against the wave of homesickness he experiences.

Apparently, they all had _so _much fun — despite John walking in and then walking right back out, stopping by the kitchen for some whiskey and laudanum — they’re going to make a seasonal tradition of it.

Sam even breaks the unspoken rule and enthuses about how hilarious Dean was in the role of the vengeful warrior Queen, despite bitching about the green dress. There’s two whole paragraphs about both the performance and the complaining, and Cas reads and rereads them with guilty, hungry eyes.

Finally, Sam closes with enthusiastic descriptions of the new library section Donna’s getting; the Southern Isles has typically kept to themselves, exporting only a select handful of their art and literature, but have recently expressed a desire to strengthen their bonds with the nearby countries, particularly to exchange culture. As part of that, a hundred different novels will be shipping to Lawrencian booksellers — and to Donna — and Sam is beside himself with excitement.

No matter how friendly Eden may become with the Southern Isles, Cas doesn’t deceive himself that he’ll ever see a fraction of those novels here.

He knows he’s being oversensitive and dramatic, but Cas has the thought that not even in Hellenia did he so strongly wish to be back home in Lawrence. He crumples the edges of the letter in his fists, struggling to subdue the feeling.

“Oh — I beg your pardon, I didn’t realize someone was already out here.”

Cas looks up, quickly smoothing out his letter and folding it.

“Princess Daphne. It’s alright, I was just reading letters.”

“Would you like some privacy?” she asks, hesitating at the turn in the hedges, and Cas shakes his head.

“No, I’m done for now.”

She tilts her head, then smiles.

“May I sit with you? Or is that improper?”

“Yes, and yes, but I have trouble caring.”

She lets out a surprised laugh.

“I see! Well, I suppose I’ll risk it. We’re all very curious about the brave Prince Castiel, though it seems like we’ve hardly seen you.”

“I’m sorry. I’ve been . . . unwell,” he settles on, since it’s not exactly a lie.

Princess Daphne comes to settle on the other side of the bench, clasping her hands in her lap.

“Is everything well?” she asks, nodding to the folded letter, and Cas frowns down at it.

“Too well,” he answers honestly. “My best friend in Lawrence wrote me about all the fun they’re having. And the _books._”

“Oh.” She looks uncertain. “Do you . . . miss Lawrence?”

“Of course. It’s my home.”

“Oh,” she says again, a little taken aback. “You must have been very young when you went there.”

“Not quite fourteen,” he says with a sigh. It seems a lifetime away, now.

A flicker of pity crosses her features.

“That’s very young to be married.”

“It was. Even here. I’m told the people didn’t care for the choice, not that they could say anything.”

“I see. I know, in my land, I’m only just eligible to marry now that I’ve turned twenty. I can’t imagine getting married at fourteen.”

He shrugs.

“I had a kind husband. And clever. He ensured I got the rest of my childhood.”

And wasn’t _that _a double-edged sword. Cas is not sure he could have loved Dean, if he hadn’t, but Dean’s consideration for it cost Cas dearly, in the end. He often wonders, now, if they hadn’t married, if Cas had presented as an alpha and become a knight and been sent to Lawrence on a mission, and if he met Dean there — might Dean have been persuaded to fall in love with him?

(Cas is nowhere near ready to return to Lawrence.)

Daphne smiles, tentative.

“Oh. Well — and you consider it your home, now, so there must have been many good things.”

Cas nods.

“No place is perfect, I’m sure, and I didn’t ever really see much of the country. But the castle is a wonderful place. The princes and knights of Lawrence are wonderful, too.”

She regards him curiously.

“May I ask why you’re staying so long here, then?”

He hesitates, then shakes his head, apologetic.

“I don’t think either of us will enjoy discussing it,” he explains, and she quickly nods.

“Of course.” They lapse into silence for a few minutes. “You indicated you liked to read?”

“Very much.” He lifts the letter with a wry smile. “My friend — that’s Prince Sam — was telling me about the new shipment of books from your country. Eden’s very strict about such things, and the library in the castle is, um, a little dry for my taste.”

Daphne bites her lip.

“A great country, indeed — invaluable engineering texts! - but alas, I admit your fiction is not as popular at home.”

Cas can’t help but laugh at that, amused.

“That doesn’t surprise me. Your kingdom is known for its art. I am very jealous of Sam, right now.”

“I brought some books with me,” Daphne offers. “The agricultural texts, you may feel free to decline, but I have a dozen novels in my trunk, at least.”

“I couldn’t possibly—”

“To share a story is to enjoy it twice, yourself,” she says cheerfully. “I’ll have someone bring a few by.”

“You’re very generous.”

“And to have opportunity to be so is a privilege, so thank you, Castiel,” she counters warmly, and he accepts it for what it is, undeniably excited at the prospect of the novels.

Some distraction would be nice, he thinks.

“Will you tell me about your home?” he asks, on an impulse. The Southern Isles have always been friendly, but have also always been a little secretive. Cas has heard contradictory myths about them, though he does know they’re natively Lawrencian, if several hundred years back, so they certainly didn’t spring from the sea in a god’s moved appreciation of a sunset.

“Ah, and _that _is a privilege, as well,” she declares, settling back against the bench with a bright smile. “Tell me what you think you already know?”

By the time Hester tracks him down and insists they both come back inside the castle, the horizon is already turning pink.

For two weeks, Cas hardly goes anywhere on the castle grounds without Daphne. There are meetings with her and the other guests and Anna’s council, which Cas is not allowed to sit in on, but Daphne always comes to find him when she’s through.

Daphne is _full _of stories.

Sometimes, they sit and read together, but her tales from home are so interesting, Cas generally feels he can read another time. The Isles sound like a truly beautiful place; they have ocean and forest and mountain, all of it lush and bright and full of marvelous plants and animals. She draws him sketches, then and there, of the things she talks about, and it all seems so fantastical Cas half-wonders if she’s making it up.

He’s most intrigued by the ocean. He’s never visited a coastal city, only traveling inland, and from her descriptions it sounds like the coasts of the isles are entirely different from those of the continent.

Daphne glances around surreptitiously, then ducks in close to Cas.

“You can scent me, if you’d like,” she says shyly. “I’m told I smell just like the ocean. Well, and the fruit trees just beyond the shore — but mostly ocean.”

Cas leans in curiously, only having caught whiffs of Daphne here and there; he finds there are difficult-to-place traces of sweetness, which he assumes to be fruit, but the rest of it is light and fresh and damp, threads of saltiness and several unknowns, and it makes Cas feel very _calm._

Which, in addition to her wonderful stories, is what he likes most about Daphne; she _always_ makes him feel very calm. He feels less lonely than he has in a long while, even if it’s not the same as being back at the castle with everyone.

“The ocean smells very nice,” he tells her, earnest, and she beams.

“It’s beautiful, too. I spend hours sitting on the beach.” Daphne has her colored pencils today, and while she talks, she draws him one of her favorite views, sketching close-ups of seashells along the side of the page. “I think — why don’t you visit, Castiel? I could show you all the things we’ve talked about.”

“I’d love to visit one day,” he says eagerly, delighted by the idea.

She hesitates, then her smile widens.

“Why wait? I’ll have to write my father for permission, but — you could come back with us when we leave, and your sister can send a guard to fetch you when you’ve had your fill of the ocean. If you do, that is,” she adds, tracing her fingers over the page with wistful eyes.

It’s not an invitation he’s prepared for, though he’s wished he could visit countless times in recent days. Is it a good idea, to make such a change, even if it’s only for a little while? Cas has a goal here, after all; will this help or hurt it?

On the one hand — the act of going somewhere else, regardless of where, makes him feel even further from home. But ever since his birthday, Cas hasn’t even been sure he’ll be able to go back home. And he seems to be getting worse in Eden, again, and if the unknown future is what he’s afraid of . . .

Isn’t it a good thing, to make a choice? When _he _makes a decision, instead of waiting for things to happen — even if he can’t know if it’s a good one or a bad one — he at least has some idea of what to expect, of where he’ll be, for the near future.

And if he goes with Daphne, he knows he’ll have a (presumably fun) adventure. And when he’s had his fill, he’ll come back to Eden, and then he can make another choice; but he’ll at least know what he’s doing — he’ll at least feel like he’s _doing_ something _ — _until then.

“Alright,” he says slowly. He can always change his mind, after all. “I — I’d like that.”

Daphne lights up, as if she weren’t expecting it. After a beat, she reaches for his hand, warm through Cas’s glove.

“I’ll post a letter tomorrow,” she promises, eyes warm, and Cas decides that for now, he feels good about his choice.

“Hurry the fuck up, dude,” Dean complains, which isn’t really fair, since Sam has had the letter for all of sixty seconds, but it’s not like Dean’s getting any (letters, that is) and some irrational part of his animal brain thinks it’s grossly unfair that Sam gets first crack at letters from _Dean’s _mate.

Except, of course, Cas _isn’t_ Dean’s mate, and the letters actually belong to Sam, and really, Dean should just be grateful Sam’s letting him read them at all.

But still. Dean can’t seem to help himself. This is all he gets. And someday Cas will come home and things will be okay — even if more than six months in, it hasn’t happened yet — and Dean will forget all about a time he waited greedily for scraps, but until then, both he and Sam just have to deal.

Sam throws him an annoyed look, pointlessly turning away, since Dean just follows — but then the annoyed look fades, and finally, Sam sets the letter down, face pale and contemplative.

“What? What — what is that face? What happened?” he demands, snatching the letter out of Sam’s hands and scanning it for whatever’s got Sam looking so weird.

“Daphne?” he says aloud, frowning. “Who the fuck is Daphne?”

“Princess of the Southern Isles,” Sam says quietly.

“Yeah, I got that, bitch, what is she doing in Eden and why is Cas—”

He cuts off when he gets to it, and in his peripheral, sees Sam nod.

“Yeah. That’s — I thought he’d come _home._”

Dean doesn’t even know what to say to that.

Because Sam’s not wrong; Dean thought Cas would come home, too. Did he want him to leave? Hell no. Has it been indescribably awful, having him gone? You bet.

But was Dean still capable of recognizing that it was probably the right choice for Cas?

Unfortunately.

But that was before month after month after _month_ passed and Cas still gave no sign he was coming back. It’s been _half a year. _ Cas should be completely and totally over him, by now. It’s not like he’s locked up in a tower, in Eden; he goes out all the time and he’s been meeting more people than he can keep track of — like that asshat _Balthazar — _ and he has his sister there to reassure him, like he had Dean after Sam broke his heart, so — so why the hell isn’t he _back _yet?

More importantly, why the hell is he going to the _Southern Isles_?

“I mean. I — I’d visit myself, if I had the chance. They’re supposed to be just — incredible. But — I — it feels like he’s just getting further away.”

“Because he fucking _is,_ ” Dean snaps. “I don’t — I don’t get it! Why isn’t he _back _yet?”

Sam just gives him a look, and Dean scowls.

“No way this is still my fault. He’s just — he’s being stubborn, now. He’s not in love with me and he knows it, and I don’t care if the Southern Isles have goddamn _pandas, _ he can visit _later. _ He — he needs to come _home_.”

Sam just gives him a tired look; around the second month, he stopped arguing with Dean about Cas’s feelings.

“Well, they don’t have pandas,” is all he mutters.

They sit in silence, for a long time, a bizarre sort of anxiousness palpable in the air, before Sam speaks.

“He used to do this, too,” he comments, staring at the floor. “Ask to read my letters from you. He didn’t want to show me his — I didn’t really ask, because I could tell — but he wanted whatever news from you he could have. He missed you like crazy.”

“Well, he clearly doesn’t now.”

Sam sighs, tiredly gesturing to the letter in Dean’s hand.

“’I wish I had been there for the tea party. I wish I could have seen Dean,’” he quotes pointedly. “I don’t think he meant your dress.”

Dean shudders. Explaining to his Dad why he and every knight in the castle were in skirts and ruffles hadn’t been a fun one.

“I dunno, everyone found me pretty hilarious.”

“Not because of your dress.”

“Dude."

“I’m just saying. He never asks about you, never mentions you at all. Not even to ask how you’re doing. If he was over it even a little, Dean, he’d ask. Hell, he’d _write _you. You’re his best friend. Of course he cares. The only reason he wouldn’t is if it were still too painful.”

“It’s been six months,” Dean protests weakly.

“_You _aren’t over it.”

Dean almost laughs. _That’s _a fucking understatement.

“Yeah, well, I got a different thing going on.”

“No, you don’t, and you’re an idiot if you keep telling yourself that.”

“Sammy—” he starts, warning, and Sam huffs, getting to his feet.

“All I’m saying is — you better _hope _the ocean is the only reason he’s going there.”

Dean’s actually not an idiot, and he knows exactly what Sam’s saying, has had a sinking feeling in the pit of his gut ever since he read what Cas wrote about how kind Daphne is, how grateful he’s been for her company.

Dean met her parents once, when he was about sixteen years old, and while the memory’s fuzzy, he doesn’t doubt this Daphne chick’s at least okay-looking. And Cas is into all that lesbian porn, besides; how can feelings for some creepy old jackass he’s known forever compare to boobs? Especially if said boobs come with fun company and beaches and exotic wildlife and — most importantly — probably all the books Cas could ever want to read?

They can’t.

So Dean goes riding to blow off steam, convincing himself that hey, Daphne’s parents were both kinda skinny and spindly, so she probably grew up to have totally lame boobs, herself. Even if _Dean _doesn’t really care about that kind of thing, Cas’s books go on and on and on about ‘generous swells’ and ‘soft, full breasts’ and ‘sweetly rounded bosoms,’ so Cas is probably — _definitely _— a boob guy.

(If it’s hard to picture Cas caring about that kind of thing, either, well, Dean just needs to try harder.)

So he assures himself it’ll be _fine_; Cas’ll go on his little trip to see the ocean and all the plants and animals and the theatres and libraries, and once he’s had enough, he’ll come home for good.

And then Dean won’t ever have to live without him again.

Being in the Southern Isles is surreal in some ways; it’s like nowhere else Cas has ever been, and some days, he has the disorienting sensation of being in a dream.

It’s a good dream, for the most part. The boat ride over is fascinating, if a little boring at times. He spends perhaps too much time staring at the surface of the sea, lost in thought, but he also spends a lot of time sitting beneath endless-seeming skies and reading or talking quietly with Daphne. She almost always draws, while they talk, and there’s something soothing about it; the sound of her pencils brushing across the paper, her voice low and soft, the way it means they don’t have to make much eye contact at all. Cas usually likes eye contact, likes being able to watch the faces of his friends as they speak; but the absence here is relaxing. Cas likes Daphne, very much, but he doesn’t know her _that _well, and it’s nice to sit and feel so unselfconscious.

“What do you do with all your sketches?” he asks her.

“I’m the liaison to the people,” she explains. “So I spend a lot of my time in the towns, and the children like to have the pictures I make.”

She tells him more about her work; making sure the people and the towns are well-looked after, that where there is need, those needs are met. Her brother will be king, and she hopes to do this permanently.

Once there, Daphne takes him all over the central island. They’re much freer in the Isles, though her father insists that, out of respect for Eden’s custom, they be accompanied by a guard which may double as a chaperone. Cas doesn’t bother trying to tell him it’s unnecessary; ownership of him appears to have reverted back to Anna, and he’s aware now that his exploits reflect on her whether he likes it or not.

He complains about this to Daphne, who is wholly sympathetic.

“I can’t imagine. Even when I’m on my own, I don’t usually take a guard. It’s generally very safe here.”

“Even if it weren’t, I could protect the both of us,” Cas points out sullenly.

She studies him.

“You were a knight, in Lawrence?” she asks carefully. She usually doesn’t ask him too many questions about Lawrence, no doubt sensitive to his mood when she has done, but this, he can talk about.

“Yes. One of the best. And while I was in exile, we went through Hellenia, where it can be very violent. I fought off a number of bandits.”

She looks horrified.

“It’s not that we never have problems, or that we don’t have an army, but — it’s rare. No one bothers us much, here, and when the people have enough, there’s hardly ever any serious trouble.”

Cas has observed this. If Lawrencian and Edenish townspeople were kind to him, the people of the Isles are just as much so; but like Daphne, there’s an easy calm to them all, even when they’re loud and boisterous in their amusement.

“That’s nice,” he says honestly. “I like being a knight — it’s very satisfying — and I like knowing I can protect my home and my family, that I can fight at De—uh. That I can fight alongside my friends. But I’d rather not fight other people in earnest. I was proud of myself, for handling the bandits, but — seeing people hurt is . . . grim business.”

He thinks of killing the first group of bandits, of seeing the very moment they died. Of watching April bleed out from a knife in her throat.

He enjoys the fight, enjoys the sense of focus, the sureness of movement, the satisfaction of victory — but that . . . that, he didn’t much care for at all.

Daphne looks relieved for some reason, and quickly changes the subject.

The things to do here seem never-ending; she takes him to their museums and theaters. Cas has seen plays before, but nothing quite like what they do here. It’s incredible, like books fully come to life.

He wishes Sam were there to see it. He wishes _Dean _ were there; Dean likes reading just fine, if not as much as Sam and Cas, but Cas has a hunch Dean would _love _the plays. There’s music in most of them, and he knows Dean loves music.

For days, it’s hard to keep the songs out of his head.

In the mornings, and some afternoons, they explore the pockets of wilderness between town and the castle. They spend hours on the beach, steadily creeping back from the rising tide and snacking from a picnic basket. Daphne was right; she smells just like the ocean, and the fragrant fruit trees clustered not too far from it.

Cas especially likes to close his eyes and sit close to the edge of the water; on cool days, the light spray from the water and the crisp, fresh scent in the air almost make him feel like he does in the flying-dreams, and he sometimes loses track of time altogether. Only the water crashing over his feet has him breaking free.

The forests in the Isles are entirely different from the ones in Lawrence. Daphne has a hundred different stories about them, it feels like, all kinds of myths and legends and wonderfully outlandish speculations, and when they get back inside and head for the library, she finds a number of myth and folklore books for Cas to explore.

(And the library, both at the castle and in town; the more time Cas spends there, the more his delight is rivaled only by wistfulness and guilt that Sam is not there to enjoy it, too. Cas suspects he’d sleep no more than he absolutely had to, too keen to explore all the strange wonders the Isles have to offer.)

He enjoys himself immensely (though is disappointed to find their Winter Solstice lacking in the Lawrencian Christmas traditions). While it’s hard, not being able to share all these marvels with everyone back home, there are so many of them he struggles to focus on his sadness for any length of time at all. If he stays long enough, he’s sure things will settle and he’ll regress, like he did in Eden, but for now, it’s easy not to worry. The Isles feel so far from anything and everything, and the temptation to just get lost in it is great.

There’s no reason not to give in.

He’s there three weeks when Daphne invites him on a trip; the other side of the island experiences a rougher climate, and has recently faced losses from storms, so she’s accompanying builders from the capital to help make repairs and bring needed supplies.

Cas goes along gladly. The people are in good spirits, despite the troubles, still preparing for New Year’s celebrations, and he helps replace a stone wall and repair a barn. He receives some amount of praise for his endurance, and when he explains his history as a knight, ends up showing a group of the builders some of the training exercises he does.

And though he spends considerably less time training now, Cas can’t help but feel smug at how many push-ups he can do, his crowd chanting out the count with awe and delight.

When they break for their evening meal, they all eat in the town square, food prepared over fire pits and crowds of people laughing and talking. There’s even music, from somewhere, and Cas settles down with a group of children making flower crowns. He thinks he should feel childish, but he doesn’t at all, even when they complete their crafts and pull him into a skipping game.

He’s never spent much time with children before, not since he was one; there aren’t many at Winchester Castle, at least not where he would come into contact with them, and in Eden, the court either left theirs at their estates to be looked after by nannies, or in the castle nursery.

They’re surprisingly good company, he finds. Still, he wonders, with a pang, if this is really how Dean sees him. He feels worlds different from them, even the older ones, who must be into their teens, but maybe he’s wrong. He did spend a good hour and a half playing with them, and not once was he bored.

It makes his heart feel heavy, but then Daphne plunks down beside him with a plate for each of them, and the children eagerly disperse in pursuit of food. They’re joined by others who tell him stories about _this _side of the island — “The better side, no offense, Princess!” — and Cas forgets once again.

After dinner, he shows some of the children a few sword tricks with some repurposed wooden sticks; he catches Daphne watching him with a strange smile, one he doesn’t think he’s seen before, but then he’s being poked in the ribs and he quickly returns his focus where it should be, real swords or not.

There’s a celebration on the shore for New Years, but there is no countdown and no kissing. Cas huddles close to one of the fires, listening to an old sailor tell stories and trying not to think of Dean in Lawrence, kissing someone different this year.

At any rate, it comes as a surprise when, two weeks after that, his letter from Anna contains certain news.

_Daphne’s father has written asking permission for her to take a courtship test with you. I’m going to assume you don’t know what that means; it’s a Southern Isles custom where you and Daphne spend time alone in some sort of nature or wilderness — angle for the gardens, if you do it; I’ve been told the beasts of the forest are largely nonviolent, but __that seems unlikely_ —_ and then __a respected elder __or something of the sort privately ask each of you how you feel. Depending on what you say, you’re given permission to court, which lasts one month, after which time you decide whether or not to consent to marriage._

_ I’m sorry. I probably sound flippant. I just — it feels soon. I know _ _ I _ _ was asking you, a few months ago, but — after the way your marriage to Dean turned out, I worry. I’ll support you in whatever you do, Cas, even if there may be some outrage over you choosing a beta who won’t even inherit, but don’t feel like you don’t have choices. I know things have been difficult for you; I understand why you went to the Southern Isles in the first place. But it really hasn’t been that long, even if it feels like it. And I know a part of you always intended to go back to Lawrence, and still wants to. Just . . . choose for yourself, whatever you think will make you happy, but do _ _ think _ _ about it. Don’t decide in haste. _

_ Anyway, I’ve told him it’s your decision, _ _ so you know. _ _ And let _ _ me _ _ know how you’re doing, honestly. _ _ I worry about you, and I miss you. _

Cas is . . . in shock, mostly. Daphne is wholly different from April, and even from Balthazar. She’s never even told Cas she found him beautiful or handsome. He’d certainly never have guessed she was interested in _ courting _him.

He’s not sure what he wants to do, and here, he has no one he can ask. Not before he’ll likely be called upon to agree to the courtship test.

It is a startling coincidence, then, that Daphne takes him out with the castle cook to find produce from the market and there, Cas runs into a familiar face.

“Is it an apple?” someone asks, and something about the voice gives him pause. “Oh. It looks like an apple. What does it taste like, then?”

They go back and forth with the fruit seller for a few moments before it hits him, despite being so unexpected and out of place here, and he whirls.

“Jo?”

The blonde in front of the cart across from them freezes, then whips around.

“Holy — _ Cas _?” A grin spreads across her face, and she dashes toward him, throwing her arms around him and squeezing.

He swears he’s off his feet for a few moments before she releases him, pulling back with a grin.

“Wow. You have a tan. This is crazy. I’d write home about it, but I don’t want them to know where I am.”

His brows lift.

“You ran away?”

She shrugs, though she looks a little guilty.

“Look, I didn’t have a choice. It’s peace time, and every time a position at one of the outposts opened up or one of the regular missions was due, I got passed over. You _ know _mom is making sure I don’t go anywhere.”

“She does worry about you,” he says cautiously. He’s sympathetic, but — “You let her know you’re alright, somehow, don’t you?”

Jo averts her gaze, toeing the dirt.

“I left a note?”

“Jo,” he says sternly. He can’t imagine how upset Ellen is; everyone else will follow, if they don’t hear from her soon. “How long have you been gone?”

“Untwist your knickers, Cas. This was first on my stop, since they just negotiated to let more than merchants come to the coastal towns, and who _ doesn’t _want to go to the Southern Isles? Which, it’s incredible here, isn’t it?”

“It is,” he agrees readily. “I’ve been here over a month and I’m not tired of it yet.”

“Right! So can you really blame me? It’s not a fight — unless you count getting into it with that seagull over my fried cake — but it’s an adventure, so I’ll take it.”

“That’s good. You shouldn’t be getting into fights, here. Even if you want to,” he adds, smiling a little, but Jo just beams back. “You have somewhere to stay? Enough money?”

“I’m boarding at a place near the shore. It’s adorable, I’ve never seen anything like it. And don’t be ridiculous, I wouldn’t take your money even if I needed it, which I don’t. I _ did _ get a knight’s salary, and I’m doing odd jobs. People like my sword tricks,” she adds, flashing a grin.

Cas loves the cottages off the beach, though he’s a little worried at how . . . not-worried Jo is.

“You’ll write home soon?”

She sighs.

“_Yes, _ I’ll write home soon, I just — I just needed some breathing room. _ You _get it, don’t you? Everybody treats you like a kid, too, and even if it’s home, sometimes you have to get away. It’s not like we’re not going back.”

Cas swallows.

“I . . . I do understand.”

She narrows her eyes.

“Wait a sec. What’s that look? Dude, you _ are _going back, right? I know Dean still has his head up his ass, but . . . you belong there.”

Cas shrugs. He doesn’t disagree with her, but ‘there’ stands to change in ways he might not be able to handle, at least at some point. Being conscious of that — he doesn’t know if he _ can _go back home.

“Daphne asked permission to do a courtship test.”

Jo’s brows lift.

“Like, what? She wants you to hunt down boars and fight her other suitors?”

“No — not _ that _kind of test — it’s a, um, a ritual, of some sort — anyways, it’s to see if she can court me. For marriage,” he clarifies, and Jo’s eyes go big.

“Oh.” She blinks. “Wow. I didn’t know you’d met someone else. Don’t get me wrong, that’s . . . great, for you, but — isn’t it kind of soon to talk _ marriage _ ? Like — you’re younger than _ me. _”

“I don’t know,” he admits. “I was wondering what you thought? If the test is successful, the courtship lasts thirty days, and then we both decide whether we want to proceed or not.”

Jo nods.

“Okay. So — you could still change your mind.”

“Yes. But — there’s at least some intent there. And I don’t know if I . . .”

She frowns at him.

“So . . . would Daphne like, move to Lawrence with you, or would you guys split your time, or . . .?”

“I don’t know,” he says honestly.

She’s quiet for a moment, clearly thinking hard, if her facial expressions are anything to go by, and then she grunts.

“Look, I don’t wanna tell you what to do — god knows I’m sick of that crap — but it’s gonna suck if you don’t end up back in Lawrence. Dean’s . . . well, it’s his own damn fault, but what about Sam and the rest of us?” she asks, troubled. “It’s not really the same without you.”

“I . . . Jo, nothing has changed,” he confides miserably. “I told myself I wouldn’t go back until I thought I could watch Dean fall in love with or marry someone else, but — I can’t. I don’t think I’ll _ ever _be able to.”

“Like he’s gonna,” she grumbles. “More like he’ll die miserable and alone. Of _ stupidity_.”

Cas frowns.

“Are you fighting with Dean?”

“Kind of? M’pissed about how he handled this thing with you.”

“I don’t know what he could have done different.”

Jo makes a face.

“You know he loves you, right? Not that he doesn’t deserve all the torment, since he’s making you suffer, too, but . . .”

“I know. It makes it more bearable. But I don’t know if it will be enough, if I make myself go back. I don’t want to end up running again, with nowhere to run to.”

“Not what I meant,” she mumbles, then sighs again. “Okay. How’s about this, Cas? I can tell the whole courtship thing was left-field for you, so . . . give it a shot? And if you do the thirty-day thing, think about it. You know you like it here, but — can you call it _ home _? And can you spend the rest of your life with this Daphne chick, not having awesome capture-the-figure games and drunken parties and — shit, super-fun mealtimes with the rest of us in Lawrence?”

Cas smiles slightly.

“I could do that. I should explain to Daphne, though, what I’m thinking going in, shouldn’t I?”

Jo nods.

“Yeah. I mean, I don’t know how it works here, but probably?” She gives him a speculative look. “So . . . you and Daphne are like _ that_, huh? I mean, more power to you, it’s kinda weird if Dean’s your only experience, but . . .”

Cas tilts his head.

“Like what?”

“I don’t know? I guess — really, do you like her more than Dean?”

“What? Of course not. Daphne’s my friend, and Dean is — is—” He looks down. “You know.”

“Oh. So you’re _not_ like that.” Jo nods, then stops. “Oh, but she wants to court you. Huh. Yeah, you should probably tell her. She probably won’t still wanna marry you.”

“Ah. Well, then that solves the dilemma, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah.” She sighs. “I’ll be honest, Cas, I want you to come back to Lawrence, but not if you feel like it’s your only choice.”

“There’s Eden.”

“Which I’ll totally visit, but it’s lower on my list, if you know what I mean.”

Cas just smiles. He’s glad he ran into Jo.

Daphne is delighted to meet one of Cas’s friends, though Jo is both unsubtle and unabashed as she sizes her up, and although Jo is enjoying the boarding house on the shore too much to accept her offer to stay in the castle, she does come to dinner and promise to accompany them on some outings while she’s here.

Cas asks her how long she’ll be staying; she hesitates, but tells him, ‘a while, actually. Maybe a little over a month.’

Cas is relieved; he’ll have a friend, at least, if Daphne for some reason decides she wants to court him even if he _ is _still in love with Dean.

As it turns out, she does.

“Castiel,” she begins the next day, while they’re having lunch on the beach. “Perhaps this is abrupt — my father thinks we’re both too young, regardless of laws — but I thought we could take a courtship test.”

Cas still manages to be surprised, though he was expecting it.

“I — Daphne, I — you’ve become a dear friend,” he starts, still unsure how to explain. “And it’s not that I wouldn’t consider it, but — you should know that I, um, I am not in love with you.”

She gives him a puzzled look, half-smiling.

“I didn’t think you were. I didn’t think we were like that at all.”

Cas blinks.

“Oh. Oh, is — is the courtship not to marry?” Damn Anna. No matter how secretive the Southern Isles are, she should have at least known about _ that. _

“What? No, it is, but — oh. Oh,” she says again, burying her face in her hands. “I’m so embarrassed. I should have thought of that.”

Cas just waits for her to uncover her face, at a loss.

“Of course, marriage customs differ throughout the lands. I understand in many places, marriage is just for lovers, but I know you and Dean married for the sake of your countries, so I didn’t think of it. Of course, here, my father couldn’t make me marry. The most he could do is introduce me to suitors and hope.” She sighs. “I’m rambling. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. I’d like to understand.”

“Certainly — how to explain . . . in the Isles, the most important thing to marriage is affection and respect. And to want the same things from it, of course, which can change, but who can ever know that?”

“I have great affection and respect for you,” Cas offers, and Daphne brightens.

“Yes, exactly. And I you. And — and I hope you want the same things as me. That’s sort of what the courtship test is for, though it’s always more complicated than that, but that’s a discussion for if we pass.”

“Oh.”

“So, I suppose — will you take the test with me? And then we have a month to talk about it to decide. Assuming it goes well, but — but I think it will. I’m sure it will. I have a wonderful feeling about it,” she adds.

“Oh. I — I’m sorry, I’m not familiar with the custom, but — I can. And . . . you’re sure it’s alright that I’m not in love with you? Or that I might be in love with someone else?”

Daphne looks thoughtful.

“Love is different from purpose. If that love is also purpose, then no — I can’t take you away from it. But if it’s not, then of course it’s alright. As long as it’s alright with you.”

And that — that is the real question Cas has been struggling with.

“I don’t know,” he admits. “We’ll have to see.”

She reaches for his hand, squeezing it.

“It’s settled, then. I’ll let my father know.”

The test, as it turns out, is fairly simple, just like Anna said.

A woman from the king’s council, red-brown hair in soft waves and hazel eyes eerily shrewd, leads them to the gardens. Cas doesn’t know the customs of the Isles, but her long black gown is unusual, dark and severe where all the clothes Cas has seen so far have been flowing and reasonably colorful. He wonders if she’s in mourning.

“You will sit in the center of the gardens, by the fountain,” she explains, voice low and clear. It makes him think of the tower dungeon in Eden, of visiting the library and being read to when he was very, very small.

He frowns. Was Anna already being sent there, when she was that age?

“It’s best if you don’t speak,” she continues, and Cas refocuses, shaking the strange thoughts away.

Cas spends many afternoons by the fountain, at any rate; it will be no trouble.

“I’ll return for you in three hours’ time.”

Her eyes flick back to Cas’s face, faintly curious, before she turns and departs. Once she’s gone, Cas follows Daphne to the center of the gardens, where they settle on the bench and wait.

At first, Cas is worried it will be difficult not to talk, at least occasionally, but he shouldn’t be. He doesn’t measure their time together in any such way, but he and Daphne often sit without speaking, and Cas settles into the silence, listening to the birds and the fountain and taking in the colors of the trees and flowers. The Isles only get so cold, so the gardens never really fall dormant, but they do change.

They’re as lovely as ever, though. Cas wonders how Calliope can resist asking to return, when she knows how beautiful they are, and loves them enough to still paint them years and years later, despite the distance.

He loses himself to these idle thoughts, and though the time doesn’t fly, it passes, and Daphne is a calm, still presence beside him until the councilwoman comes to fetch them.

“Stay seated,” she tells him, gently touching his shoulder, and gestures for Daphne to follow her. Cas waits no more than five minutes before the woman returns, opting to sit down beside him.

“How do you feel?” she asks him simply. “In a few words. Don’t overthink it.”

Cas blinks.

“At peace,” he tells her honestly. “I feel very peaceful.”

The corner of the woman’s mouth tilts up, but the smile is mostly in her eyes. It’s still a very nice smile.

“You are in accord. You have permission to court.” She stands, offering her hand. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Castiel. I wish you happiness, whatever comes of it.”

“Thank you.”

She’s gone before he realizes he doesn’t know her name.

He and Daphne take dinner on her balcony, though her father makes someone stand inside the doors, since courtship isn’t a guarantee and he doesn’t want to spoil their friendship with Eden through a scandal he scarcely understands.

“You know of the painter Calliope, right?” he asks, and Daphne lights up.

“Yes, I made a friend of her. Her paintings are a treasure.”

“I have one, of the fountain we sat by today.” He looks thoughtfully over the railing, to the sea. “The gardens are so beautiful. If she’s your friend, why doesn’t she visit them again?”

Daphne goes quiet, contemplative, leaning back in her chair.

“In the Isles, we prize beautiful things. If it is Art, it is beautiful. And here, we have three rules of beauty,” she explains eventually. “Beauty does not exist if it cannot be recognized; a human cannot recognize beauty if their suffering is too great; and if a human cannot recognize beauty, they cannot create it.”

“That makes sense.”

“I often think of the second rule. It’s why I like my work, why I asked my father for the position. I want to lessen my people’s suffering, so they may create and enjoy beauty.” Her lips curve. “When you came with me, to the other side of the island, I knew I’d like to have you come with me again. That you would be a good partner for me. You’re a kind soul. You don’t like to see others suffer.”

“Most people don’t,” he protests, and she nods.

“Yes. But there’s a difference, somehow. I don’t know. I felt an understanding with you, then. I always do, but that made it clear. It felt right.”

“Oh.” Cas isn’t completely sure he understands, but it’s a nice thought. “I told the councilwoman I felt at peace with you.”

Daphne breaks into a rare grin.

“Yes. It’s what I said, as well. It’s why we’re allowed to court. I know you’re worried about your love, Castiel, but you should know that here, peace ranks above even passion. It’s a wonderful result.”

“Oh.” Cas is still processing, but that makes him feel better, to think they’re on the same page, that an entire culture has decided this is a fortuitous sign.

“Anyway . . . you wanted to know why Calliope won’t come see the gardens?”

“It’s her choice, then?

“It is.”

“Her garden paintings are so strongly prized. Wouldn’t they be even better, if they weren’t just from memory?”

“Perhaps. She doesn’t think so. Right now, she paints the gardens as they’re seen through the eyes of a child. If she sees them, now that she’s lived, now that she’s grown, what will she end up seeing? What will she _ paint _? Will it really be as beautiful?”

“If the gardens haven’t changed — why wouldn’t it?”

“It’s a matter of innocence versus knowledge,” Daphne explains, eyes faraway. “The nature of the transformation from childhood to adulthood, of whether something that isn’t real can even _ be _ beautiful, or if the _ unreal, _the impossible, is the most beautiful.”

“I don’t understand,” he admits, and she nods.

“I don’t always understand, either. Sometimes I think I do, and other times I’m sure I don’t. But Calliope says she’s afraid that if she looks at the gardens now, they will be ruined — the way she thinks she has been.”

He understands a little better, now, and it’s a disturbing thought.

“What do you think?” he ask quietly.

Daphne looks down.

“I think there is a selfishness and darkness in us all, including myself. And some part of me, for something as unworthy as curiosity, wants to see the gardens ruined,” she confesses, and Cas thinks he understands that, too. “But — there are some who argue a fourth rule of beauty.”

“What is that?”

“That beauty cannot exist without suffering.”

“But the other rule—”

“Says the suffering cannot be too great.” He can tell by the way Daphne has disengaged from her meal, an unusual furrow to her brow, that she has troubled herself with this concept many times before. “As humans, we can never really escape suffering, though we try. For ourselves and others. Even a joyous emotion like love in one can cause suffering in another.”

Cas looks down. This, he _ definitely _understands.

“So perhaps there’s a balance,” she continues. “And perhaps, without it — beauty cannot exist.”

They don’t speak much the rest of dinner, but they say goodnight with smiles.

Still, Cas returns to his chamber, restless thoughts full of the gardens, of wondering what they’ll look like if Calliope paints them again, if she ever will.

Because she _ must _be tempted. She paints other things, beautiful things, but she never stops painting the gardens. She must have thought of them so often over the years, to still remember them so clearly. How can she stand to keep away? Even if she’s afraid she’s become something that can no longer see the beauty in them, to show it in her paintings — if she loves them so much, how can she bear it not to try?

Cas comes up with no satisfactory answer, and soothes his thoughts by writing to his sister to tell her about the test, the strange councilwoman, the outcome, and Calliope’s self-imposed distance.

To his surprise, he’s tired enough afterward that he doesn’t even need to read his book; instead, he goes right to sleep.

They get fewer letters from Cas now that he’s in the Southern Isles, and sometimes it takes Dean days to retrieve them from Sam’s room, mainly because they’re always chock-fucking-full of wonder at an incredible land Dean is terrified Winchester Castle — and the people in it — could never compete with.

It doesn’t help that Jo’s run off, and even though Dean’s not _ that _worried, she’s still by herself, and he still feels weird about the fact that they’ve been in some kind of weird, silent war since Cas left.

Of course, maybe Dean’s just sensitive to feeling like he’s got unresolved business with people who just fucking leave as it suits them.

Anyway, just because Dean needs to gather his bearings every time a new letter comes in doesn’t mean he’s not anxious as fuck while Sam reads it, even it if that anxiety helps no one, least of all himself.

In light of that, it’s pretty damn alarming when the latest one comes in and Sam reads for all of thirty seconds before he slams it down and stalks out of the hall.

Dean’s anxiety is immediately forgotten; he lurches over the table, grabbing at the letter, and smoothes it out in the empty space where Cas’s plate used to go.

_ I’ve decided to accept Daphne’s invitation to court. Or rather, we passed the courtship test, and depending on how we feel a month from now, we’ll be engaged to marry. _

Dean drops the letter without reading the rest.

_ A month from now, we’ll be engaged to marry, _is pretty much all he’s getting from it, and what the hell does the rest of it matter, if that’s the case?

Which — what is that, even? Sure, Dean was surprised when Cas lasted two months away, then three and four and all the many long, terrible months that followed, but he still believed Cas would come _ back _ (and he never thought of that little pause when they said goodbye, not at all)_. _Nothing else was an option. The whole point behind Dean not following through on his unintentional creeping was that he and Cas could stay friends and he could avoid that inevitable moment when Cas realized what he’d done and wanted to get as far away from him as possible.

And okay, maybe the Southern Isles isn’t _ as far away as possible, _ but it’s not here, and Dean is past trying to pretend that anywhere except _ right here next to Dean _is acceptable.

The thing is, Dean stopped needing tea months ago. Stopped getting headaches and dizziness and nausea and random bouts of fatigue.

The feelings though — the feelings never fucking quit, and with every letter that comes that doesn’t say _ I’m coming home, _ they just get _ worse. _

And now Cas is going to marry someone else and live somewhere else and Dean — Dean’s not going to have anything at all.

Even worse, the whole entire castle is going to be Cas-less, and Dean’s been no stranger to their ire as the months wear on; everyone’s pissed Cas left and they’re blaming it on Dean, and if Cas being gone for good doesn’t kill him, one of their friends actually might.

And that — that’s just _ unfair. _The truth is, long before they fell into this mess, Dean was pretty okay being married to Cas. More than. He knew he lucked out there; as glad as he was for Cas’s sake, he was glad for his own sake, too. At twenty, he’d thought he understood the worst-case scenarios as far as doing his duty in the marriage department went, that he wasn’t going to get a say either way, and he’d just have to accept it.

Well, if he wasn’t scared, he should have been; but his thing with Cas was leagues better than anything he ever expected, and Dean knew he’d been given a good thing.

He knew he’d been given a _ great _ thing, and even if he can see where he did some shady stuff, he’s still spent years trying to cultivate that great thing on the assumption that he’d get to have it for the rest of his life. In love or not, Dean was _ happy _with Cas, and he never stopped trying to make sure Cas was happy, too. He wanted that, for as long as they were supposed to have it.

And now, just because Dean made a few wrong turns and Cas got confused about his feelings, Dean’s supposed to give it up? He’s supposed to watch Cas marry someone else, watch him _ leave, _while Dean’s stuck here waiting for his Dad to figure out a good way to use him?

It _ is _unfair. It’s really fucking unfair. Especially when everyone’s already pissed at him, and he knows they’ll blame it on him him if they lose Cas to some stupid island after all.

When all Dean was trying to do was _ not be selfish. _

And he _ is _ trying not to be selfish, except it feels like he’s just — he’s getting _ punished _ for it. And not a one-and-done kind of punishment, either; he’s going to be punished for this for the rest of his _ life. _

Which, yeah, that’s still better than _ Cas _ living to regret it, to wake up one day and see how Dean manipulated him and end up running off anyway, but — but who the hell says Cas won’t regret _ this _ ? For chrissakes, the kid is _ twenty-one. _Dean doesn’t know anyone besides himself that got married that young. So even if Cas isn’t a kid, he’s not a full grown-up, either. Dean wasn’t. Hell, Bobby still says he isn’t!

In light of that, even if Cas is old enough to make his own decisions — who’s to say he’s not too young to make _ this _ decision? Because most people are, at twenty-one, and the whole damn point of telling Cas _ no _ was to stop him from making a decision with potential consequences he couldn’t understand, one it’d be hard for him to change his mind about later. In which case, whether it’s Dean or Daphne, this is just — this is just _ wrong. _

But what can he _ do _ ? No matter what people may think of them, Cas _ is _allowed to make his own choices. He chose to leave Dean and go to Eden. He chose not to write, and he chose not to come back, and then he chose to go to the Southern Isles, and at no point did Dean have any say in what he did.

And now — if he chooses to marry her —

Dean can’t do a damn thing about it.

Ignoring all the stares from the rest of the table, he abandons his dinner to go after Sam. He’s not sure what to expect — if Sam’ll be trashing his room or crying into his pillow or sitting in numb silence on his balcony — but Dean should at least check on him.

So he does, and when he opens the door to Sam’s room after his knock goes unanswered, he finds none of those things.

Instead, Sam has a bag lying on the bed, and he’s hastily shoving rolls off clothing into it.

“You’re packing,” Dean observes dumbly, and Sam doesn’t even look at him.

“Of course I’m packing,” he snaps. “Why aren’t you?”

“I — why would I be?”

“Because we have to go after him.”

“And then what? We can’t force him to do anything he doesn’t want, Sam. And we can’t stop him from doing something he _ does _want, either.”

And yeah, Dean’s still not thinking about why, exactly, Cas wants to marry this girl.

Sam throws a rolled-up tunic down, finally meeting Dean’s eyes.

He looks _ furious. _

“And you think this is what he wants?”

“If he says it is.”

“Well, it’s not.”

“Dude, how can you even say that? I mean, come on — he went with her in the first place. Don’t pretend you didn’t think this might happen. You as good as threw it in my face when he said he was going.”

“Because I was hoping you’d pull your head out of your ass before I had to get on a fucking boat and deal with this myself!”

“Yeah? And what are you gonna do, Sammy, ride into town and put him over your shoulder and bring him back to Lawrence, whether he likes it or not?”

“Dean, this isn’t a _ joke. _You get that in less than a few weeks, he could be engaged, right? We’re out of time and I’m done fucking around.”

“I _ know _ it’s not a joke, you dick! What I don’t know is what you think we _ can _do.”

“We can go see him. We can tell him that — that we need him _ here._”

“Well, what if he doesn’t wanna be here, Sam?”

“Of course he wants to be here. The only thing stopping him is _ you._”

Dean shakes his head, bitter.

“No. No fucking way, you don’t get to say that. Maybe he went to Eden because of me, but it’s been almost a _ year, _ Sam. Cas got over this, a while ago, probably. Just like I wanted him to. Which proves I was _ right, _and nothing I have to say is gonna change his mind.”

“He’s not over it, Dean, not even close—”

“Then why the _ hell _is he marrying her? Because even if Dad came to me tomorrow and told me a wedding was happening, I — I’m not sure I wouldn’t bolt. Even if it’s bound to happen eventually, I can’t — I still can’t think about that.”

“Then come with me and _ tell him that._”

“It wouldn’t make a difference if I did, Sam! He — damn it, he fell in love with someone else! Just like he got over you and moved onto me, he’s — he’s done here, Sam, he’s fucking done, and this is just — we just have to get used to it.”

Assuming that’s possible, because right now, it doesn’t really feel like it. No, right now, it just feels like Cas is making a huge fucking mistake, and Dean can’t do anything to stop it.

Sam stares at him, expression twitching like he wants to say a dozen different things at once, reaching for the little bundle again.

“Fine. Get used to it on your own. I’m going.”

“You really think you can stop _ Cas _from—”

“_I have to try _ !” Sam shouts. “Dean, you don’t get it. I — I’ve been watching Dad send you on stupid, dangerous missions since I was a child. Since _ you _ were a child. And you both acted like it was no big deal, but I wasn’t stupid. Every time you left I knew there was a chance you wouldn’t come back, and all I could do was _ wait. _ And then I finally got old enough to go with you, but then — then _ Valencia, _ and the civil war in Eden, and I had _ no idea, _ might _ never _ know, depending on how things went — and then _ Cas _ ran away, and then we got him back only for you to chase him away again and — and I’m _ tired. _ I’m tired of having to be afraid of losing my _ family, _ of doing nothing while I just wait for them to come back. So if you’re okay with Cas doing this, if — hell, if you think it’ll be _ easier _ for you, this way? Then I’m sorry. But it won’t be for me, and if I can stop him, I _ will. _And if I can’t, then — then I can at least make sure it’s what he really wants.”

As a general rule, Dean doesn’t cry. He doesn’t cry when he rides off to some unknown war or when he leaves his could-have-been-in-another-life mate at the gate because his Dad’s an asshole, and he definitely doesn’t cry when he thinks, really thinks, about not having anything to wait for at all.

And if his dumbass eyes are burning and his stupid throat feels about twenty sizes too small for all the air trying to get through it and even his fucking chest is trying to suffocate him from the inside —

It still doesn’t mean he’s about to cry.

“He wouldn’t be doing it if it wasn’t what he wanted. If he still felt even a little — Sam, he wouldn’t. He _ couldn’t._”

“He would if he didn’t think he had a choice,” Sam snaps, and Dean clenches his fists.

“He has a choice. Home is here, you and I are here; he can come back whenever the hell he wants. But he hasn’t. Because he doesn’t want to, and now he’s never going to.”

“That’s _ bullshit _ and you know it. Cas _ loves _ you. And if you’d just _ trusted _him, we wouldn’t be in this mess.

“I _ brainwashed _ him.”

“This is _ Cas, _Dean. He spent months in Eden before he came to Lawrence getting ‘brainwashed’ and it didn’t stick. Cas — he doesn’t do anything that doesn’t make sense to him, no matter how many people are telling him he should.” Sam pauses. “Like, remember his thing about baths?”

“Oh, my God,” Dean mutters, shaking his head. “I think he just doesn’t like being wet, but I don’t get how that’s worse than being _ dirty._”

Sam nods along for a second, then shakes himself.

“Damn it, Dean, that’s beside the point!”

“Dude, you brought it u—”

“All I’m saying is, if anyone here got brainwashed, it was you. And I get that it was — it was weird, marrying a child. And no one blames you for trying to cope. But he grew up, Dean, enough to see you for what you are and make a choice. You have to let him.”

“I’m the only thing he knows, Sammy,” he tries, and Sam rolls his eyes.

“You’re not the only person in the castle, Dean. Hell, you were gone half the time. Trust me when I say Cas had plenty of other options. You’re his weird old husband, man. If he didn’t love you, he would have started pushing back and ignoring you ages ago, because actually, you would have let him. That didn’t happen, though, because you’re also Dean, and _ yeah, _ he really loves you. Even when he didn’t want to, even when he didn’t know what it meant, even when he thought he wasn’t allowed. He loved you. But you rejected him, and then you wouldn’t even treat him as a friend anymore — when his greatest fear was _ losing _ you. And that — _ that’s _when you stopped giving him a choice.”

Dean doesn’t even understand half of what Sam’s talking about, but one thing he does know —

“All I did was try to make sure he didn’t get trapped into something he didn’t want—”

“Right, and feeling like he can’t come home because of _ you _ so he has to find somewhere else to be isn’t getting _ trapped _—”

“He would have left eventually, Sam! Except he would have _ hated _me, and probably you and everyone else who let me get away with it!”

Sam shakes his head, jaw tight as he angrily returns to stuffing things in the bag.

“Cas’d never leave you, once he had you. Even when he probably _ should, _ he wouldn’t leave you, because unlike you, he’s adult enough to hold onto the good things he has. Or at least _ try._”

“You don’t — you don’t get it, Sam, I just want him to be _ happy. _And he won’t be with me.”

Sam throws up his hands, and Dean would laugh at the picture he makes, all furious incredulity, if it weren’t so fucking sad.

“For God’s sake, Dean — you _ made him happy_! And you still could! You just won’t. This isn’t anyone’s fault but yours, and because I can see past my own fucking nose, I know he won’t be happy doing _ this. _Not enough. And if you cared about that at all, you’d be coming with me.” He turns back the bulging rucksack. “Now get out. I have shit to do.”

Dean doesn’t go, still keyed-up and out of sorts and increasingly sick at the thought of Cas staying in the Isles and getting married to someone he barely knows, someone who could turn out to be an awful match for him, someone who might make him even more unhappy than Dean would have.

Which — seriously, if Cas is just going to end up miserable and resentful anyway, it might as well be _ Dean _that does it to him.

Not that he’s going to, but — but maybe he _ should _make sure Cas doesn’t make a different mistake, at least.

“You really think you can change his mind?” he asks, and Sam sighs, shoulders slumping.

“By myself? I don’t know. I want to, but — I don’t know. I’ve been writing him for months, trying to, so there’s a good chance I won’t be able to talk him out of this, either.” He looks up, and even though Dean knows he’s still pissed, there’s something faintly pleading there. “You could, though.”

“I can’t make him any promises, Sam,” Dean tries to explain, even though nobody but him seems to get this. “I can’t tell him anything different than you can; that I’m here, I’m his friend, and I want him to come home.”

Sam lifts his shoulders.

“So? Maybe with both of us, it’ll be enough. Right now, he’s — he’s just running, Dean. Because he thinks he has to.”

“And if he’s madly in love with the princess?”

“Then we wish him luck and let him go. But if he’s not — then he’s making a mistake, and we owe it to him to help him out of it.”

Dean nods slowly.

Maybe Sam is right. Maybe, if they really love Cas, they have a _ duty _to go and make sure this is the right thing for him. Regardless of his thing with Dean — and Dean probably doesn’t have anything to do with it at all — the fact is, Cas is making a hasty decision, here. Like, who marries someone they’ve only known a few months if someone’s not making them?

People who end up regretting it, is who.

“Okay.”

Sam’s head jerks up, eyes wide and painfully hopeful.

“Okay? Like, ‘okay’ as in you’re coming?”

“Yeah. I still think you shouldn’t get your hopes up, but — but yeah.” Dean shrugs, looking down. “Worth a shot.”

The last thing he’s expecting is for Sam to amble across the room and throw his arms around Dean with a vaguely alarming sniff, but he winces through it like a true knight would, awkwardly patting Sam’s back until he’s finished.

Eventually, Sam pulls away, eyes all soft and shiny-looking.

“Okay,” he says, squeezing Dean’s shoulder and giving him a wobbly-looking smile. “Okay. Let’s go get him.”

And sure, in that moment, Dean thinks back to Charlie warning him how hard this was on Sam and he feels like a selfish dick for doing nothing but pick fights with him the last ten months, but it also means the last of his doubts fade away.

He can do this. For Cas, and for Sam, too — he can do this.

He goes to his room to pack.

They’re two weeks through their courtship — which, to be perfectly honest, is no different than how things were before, with the addition of speculative conversations about how they expect married life to be like — when Cas’s heat creeps up on him, mild and unconcerning like the last one.

He’s not quite fit for company, though, so he asks a servant to inform Daphne he might not see her for two or three days.

Within the hour, Daphne knocks on his door, looking worried and vaguely nervous.

“Hello. The, um, the servant told me you were having your heat.”

Cas nods.

“It’s not very bad,” he says, then hesitates, before deciding he ought to be honest with her. “They’re usually much more severe. I, um, I had scent-bonded, to Dean, and until that’s completely gone, it — it won’t be as bad.”

“Oh.” She folds her arms, then offers him a tentative smile. “Do you — we’re courting, now, and I’ve heard cycles spent alone are very unpleasant, so it — it seemed right that I offer to help you through it? I admit, I don’t get a cycle, and I’ve never had much interest in such things, but — especially if you’re accustomed to having someone, I would certainly do that for you.”

Cas is surprised, and honestly, touched. No one has ever offered to help him through his heat before.

“Thank you — very much — but it isn’t necessary. I . . . I always do it alone.”

Daphne looks surprised, then sympathetic.

“I’m sorry. I can try, if you want me to. At least when they start getting bad again.”

“Is that something you want?” Cas asks, since they’ve never discussed it. If he thinks of such things, he can’t help himself; he still thinks of them with Dean. He doesn’t ever look at Daphne that way.

But he’s become very fond of Daphne, and he trusts her, and if that’s something she is keenly interested in, he thinks he could accustom himself to doing that, especially if he’s already burdened by the urges of his cycle.

Just as long as he’s not expecting it to be like it is with Dean.

Daphne looks taken aback, before her brows dip. She smiles, but there’s something almost skittish in the way she glances about, shoulders tucking up higher.

“Oh, I . . . well, if you do, of course.”

“It’s alright if you don’t,” he says, just taking a guess. “I was married to Dean for a long time, and we never did that. It’s not something I need.”

Daphne hesitates, then finally meets his eye.

“Are you — are you sure? It’s not that I would object to you finding company, but the medicines aren’t as effective for alphas and omegas and — I don’t know how it was in Lawrence, but here it isn’t considered proper to have children outside of one's marriage, so you can’t really — but — but it’s a bad match, if either partner is unhappy, so I wouldn’t want you to be unhappy, and I _could_—”

Cas holds up a hand, alarmed. Daphne has never rambled like this in the entire time he’s known her.

“Daphne,” he interrupts gently. “I’m quite sure.” If he’d just still been married to Dean, if he had had that as a promise for the future, Cas thinks he could have weathered rejection. He didn’t need Dean to _ touch _ him, even if he thought it would be nice. “It’s neither the reason I would marry you or a good reason not to.”

Her shoulders relax, just a little.

“Oh. Oh, that’s — that’s good. Thank you, Castiel,” she says earnestly.

He reaches a hand out, and she comes closer, folding her own around it, though there’s still something cautious about the way she searches his face.

“I admit, I don’t know yet, what I’ll decide,” he explains, and she nods.

“That’s what the courtship is for.”

“You sound like you’ve decided.”

She smiles, finally, sincere.

“I did initiate it. You’re — a _ wonderful _friend, Castiel, and I think we can help many people together. And . . . you seemed lost, when I met you.” She hesitates. “You weren’t at peace. But you’re finding it, here, and that — it seems like a sign. I feel as though I shouldn’t ignore it.”

He nods.

“I am.” He lets her hand go, scooting over to make a space for her to sit. “And even though I don’t know, yet, I’m inexpressibly grateful that I met you. You’ve helped me a lot.”

Daphne beams as she settles in beside him, eyes shining.

“That’s all I want. I want to help people.”

“Whether we do it together or not, I think you’ll help more people than you can count, Daphne.”

She nods, ducking her head and discreetly dabbing at her eye.

“Thank you,” she whispers, and then nods; whether it’s to herself or to him, Cas isn’t sure. “Then — is there anything I can do? To help you now?”

He considers this for a moment. He doesn’t want to make Daphne uncomfortable, but—

“Would you mind just — sitting with me? The worst part of heats has always been — I have to stay by myself. I shouldn’t, but — I get lonely. Of course, my friends visited sometimes, but they often couldn’t, and . . .”

Daphne just reaches for his hand, giving it a squeeze.

“Of course, Castiel. I’d be glad to.”

She leaves just to ask someone to send up two lunches, and comes back bearing more books and a few games.

And no, it’s not the nicest heat Cas has ever had — he suspects that distinction will always go to that last one in Eden, with Dean — but it’s an easy second.

It makes him think that he was right, when he wrote Sam.

That maybe, he could be happy here.

Dean spends the entire fucking boat trip throwing up, it feels like. He’s surprised Sam doesn’t just strap him to a board and push him into the sea, because if he’s not puking, he’s complaining about it.

Still, Sam’s surprisingly patient, just hauls an extra bucket around with him and helps Dean up to the deck if it looks like there’s enough time before it happens. He even pats Dean’s back sometimes, trying to comfort him.

On the other hand, Sam is also kind of a dick.

“I’m being punished,” Dean says once, feeling disgusting and pitiful and vaguely bitter, but instead of Sam offering more sympathy and reassurance, he looks thoughtful.

“I didn’t think that was how it worked, but maybe?”

Anyway, they make it to the Isles after three days trapped in floating-basket hell, and the first thing Dean does is drop to his knees and try to kiss the blessedly still dock.

Sam seizes him by the collar at the last second, jerking him upright.

“_Dude,_” he hisses, appalled. “We can’t get Cas back if you die of _infection. _”

“It’s land,” Dean snaps, though he reluctantly struggles back to his feet.

“No, it’s a _ dock. _If it’s that important to you, I’ll find you a patch of dirt after we get out of these nice people’s way,” he adds, shooting an awkward what-can-you-do smile at the couple waiting patiently to pass them.

“Bitch,” Dean mutters.

Sam just throws an elbow into his side as he ambles forward.

“Jerk. Let’s go find somewhere to stay.”

“What, we’re not gonna storm the castle?”

“No, that would be _ kidnapping. _And rude.”

“Whatever,” Dean grumbles, although honestly, he’s just happy not to be on a goddamn floating death trap.

And if he’s being doubly honest, his raw stomach is still feeling queasy over more than just unnatural motion.

Because they’re _ here. _They rode south to the coast, they got on the boat, and now there’s a bright, blue-grey sky overhead, sea-crisp air filling his nostrils, and even though it’s the dead of winter he’s barely chilly in his long-sleeved tunic.

“It’s fucking weird,” he mutters, and Sam huffs, having heard Dean’s complaints about the bizarrely warm winter weather since they were a day out.

“Please. There are places further south than this where it’s like summer, all year.”

“Gross.” Why can’t the seasons just happen like they’re fucking _ supposed _to?

“Dean,” Sam says quietly, apparently wise to him. “Stop panicking. We just — we just do our best, okay?”

Dean shuts his mouth.

_ What if our best isn’t good enough _? he wants to ask.

But they’re out of time for strategizing — not that they really did, because Dean still has _ no _idea what to say to Cas — and come the morning, they’ll be headed to the castle to try their luck.

Yeah, Dean wishes he’d brought the bucket with them.

They follow a thickening crowd to a busy, open main street, where Sam herds Dean into a large, cottage-like inn. He likes the look of it, he guesses — like the look of the whole street, even if it’s weird as hell hearing the ocean waves crashing behind them — but he’s already decided it’s too strange and Cas doesn’t belong here, either way.

Hopefully _ Cas _ can be brought to see his point, even if Dean only has vague hand-waving to offer in support of it.

He lets Sam handle getting a room, glancing around the place — it’s cozy-looking, even without the crackling hearth on one wall, and more importantly, very clean — and once Sam’s paid someone to take their bags, Dean wanders toward the open archway to a tavern room without asking permission.

“I watched you vomit twice less than two hours ago,” Sam complains. Dean ignores him, snagging a just-vacated table, and with a sigh, Sam sits down opposite.

And then he hears a very familiar voice.

“Afternoon, fellas, what can I get you?”

They both look up so fast Dean swears he hears something crack.

“_J__o? _” they exclaim in unison, and her face pales.

“Shit.” She hesitates, glancing toward the exit like she might actually bolt, which—

“Don’t be ridiculous. It’s not like Ellen sent us after you or anything.”

She relaxes a little, panic turned speculation.

“Oh. So . . . you’re here for Cas, then?”

“You’ve seen him?” Sam asks, anxious, and she shrugs.

“Every few days, we hang out.”

“How, um, how does he seem?”

Jo considers this for a moment, then sighs.

“Like he’s gonna marry a princess.”

Dean sags in his chair, not missing the way Sam’s face falls.

“Damn it,” he mutters, wishing Jo had already brought him a drink.

“So — so he’s definitely — like, he _ likes _her? Or, um, or more?”

She hesitates.

“I didn’t think so? But I went to see him, and they told me he was ‘indisposed,’ which obviously means he was in cycle, and when I saw them again a few days later, something was just — different. Cas seemed more sure.”

Which — Dean would _ really _like a drink, right now. He’s a million times more worried about the whole marriage thing than Cas just sleeping with someone else, but call it ancient alpha instincts or even just being sad and piney — Dean doesn’t feel awesome about the idea of someone else helping Cas through his heat.

Jo thwacks him across the back of his head.

“Stop — _ smelling _ like that!” she complains. “It’s your own damn fault for never helping him out. Of course she rocked his world, he’s used to being sad and all _ alone_.”

“Hey, I stayed with him the last one he had in Eden!” Dean defends himself, and Jo looks surprised for all of two seconds before she turns downright _ furious. _

“So you fucked him and _ then _turned him d—”

“That is _ not _what I meant—”

“Both of you, _ shut up,_” Sam hisses. “You’re making a scene and none of this is helping.”

“Yeah, well, what else is new?” Jo snaps, and only a sharp look from Sam stops Dean from retaliating.

“_Anyway. _Regardless of how things stand — although it’s good to know that he, um. That he isn’t just . . .” He glances at Dean. “Right. Yeah. We’re going to try and talk him out of it.”

“I don’t know, Sam, it looks like we wasted a trip,” Dean mumbles, and Jo huffs.

“As much as I kind of hate you right now, even if Daphne is a wizard in the sack, Cas’ll probably come back if you ask him to. Which pisses me off, but I don’t want him to stay here, either, so I guess it’s a good thing.”

Dean doesn’t meet her eye.

“You think? Even if I can’t . . .”

It takes her a second, and he’s surprised her eyes stay in her head.

“Are you _ kidding _ me — you seriously came here to ask him to come back as a _ friend_?”

“It was Sam’s idea!”

“Wait, it was my idea to ask as a friend, you decided the other crap all on your own—”

“Do you even understand why he ran away in the first place? Oh, my _ God. _ Fuck. Half of me hopes he tells you _ no. _”

“Yeah, well, he probably will. Wanna get me a goddamn drink, now?”

“Sure thing, Deano, one goddamn drink to throw in your stupid goddamn face, _ coming right up _—” she starts muttering, stalking away, and Sam sighs.

“She has a point, you know.”

“Oh, for the love of—”

“And at the very least, if you’re not going to—” he waves a hand. “Then you have to stop picking fights when people call you out on it.”

“They’re the ones picking them.”

“Did you ever think that’s because the rest of us have pretty much no control over whether you ruin this for us or not?”

“I don’t owe you anything.”

“That doesn’t mean it doesn’t still hurt us.”

Dean closes his eyes, touching the bridge of his nose.

“Sam. Just — give me one night. We’ll go to the castle tomorrow, and we’ll see, but — this isn’t easy for me.”

Sam sighs.

“Alright. But — tomorrow, you have to _ try. _You can’t give up before we get there.”

Dean nods.

“Sounds like a plan,” he says tiredly.

He still doesn’t know what he’s going to say.

As it turns out, Dean doesn’t really get time to figure it out.

Despite the temptation to head straight to bed after Jo brings him an ale he’s ninety-nine-percent sure is half-seawater, Sam drags him out to walk around and do some recon, to see what they might be competing with.

Well, in theory. Dean suspects Sam just wants to wear him out so he doesn’t lay awake fretting, and the only reason he goes along with it is because Sam’s a giant fucking hypocrite and Dean wants to make sure he doesn’t do that, either.

Anyway, the sun is just starting to set, the street torches still being lit, when Sam leads them to a pavilion of sorts, where a group of dancers in matching, colorful costumes are putting on a performance. There’s a small, growing crowd gathered before them; reluctantly curious, he follows Sam to the edges to watch.

It’s a beautiful dance. There’s something going on with the two-toned, voluminous sleeves that looks really fucking cool when they lace fingers and twirl, and Dean kind of zones out trying to keep track of what’s going on, content to sit and watch until it’s over. The dancers have crazy stamina, not to mention their musical accompaniment, because it goes on ten more minutes at least.

There’s raucous applause when they finish, artfully arranged where they come to an abrupt stop on the final drum beat, and Dean doesn’t think twice before clapping, too. Lawrence has street performers and theater troupes, sure, but anything this sophisticated is pretty rare.

He hopes this is an exception, but he doubts it. This is what this place is known for; if Cas didn’t have — _ feelings — _for Daphne, this kind of entertainment has to be a pretty big incentive on its own.

Mood dampened — redampened, he supposes — he turns to Sam for direction as the crowd around them disperses.

“Where to next, man?”

Sam’s brow is furrowed.

“Um. I don’t know. That was . . . that was really cool. A, um, a lot of this stuff is.”

“Yep.” Dean’s pretty sure Sam is thinking the same thing he is, and they stand in silence for a few moments as people filter by on either side of them.

And then — Dean scents Cas before he hears him, stumbling back from the sheer force of it, and someone walks right into him.

“— and their sleeves were so — oh, excuse me, I—”

Cas cuts off before Dean even turns around. Dean feels like he’s moving through mud, sluggish and uncoordinated, and by the time he manages it, Cas’s eyes — his blue, blue fucking eyes — are wide, nostrils flared.

“Oh,” is all he says.

_ Hey, Cas, _ Dean tries to say, but nothing comes out. Nope, after coming all this way, all Dean can do is stand there like a fucking dumbass, just — _ staring. _

And _ God, _ Cas looks so good. He’s all tanned and bright-eyed and dark haired, and his face is so — it’s so — he looks _ just like himself _ and Dean can’t even begin to explain the effect it’s having on him. He _ smells _ like himself, too, and that’s as perfect as it should have been expected, and all Dean wants to do is wrap around him and not do something embarrassing like cry and beg him to come home.

Fortunately, he’s still too paralyzed by shock or confusion or whatever to actually _ do _that, and Cas must be waiting for him to speak, first — which is fair, Dean is the one who isn’t supposed to be here — because he, too, just stands and stares.

Sam clears his throat.

“Hey, Cas,” he says, and _ fuck _ him, how the hell does _ his _ word-maker-box just _ go _like that?

Cas takes a deep breath, twitching in the direction of Sam’s voice, but his eyes don’t leave Dean’s.

“H-hello, Sam,” he returns, voice strained. “What — what are you . . .”

He trails off, tilting his head, eyes huge in his face where they’re still pinning Dean to the spot.

“Not _ Prince Sam_?” an unfamiliar voice exclaims, and then there’s someone looping their arm through Cas’s, an offensive, light brown-haired blur in Dean’s peripheral. “And . . . Prince Dean?”

Sam coughs.

“Um. Yeah. Yeah, we just — wow, what a, um, a coincidence. We were going to come see you tomorrow, actually, you know, just — just check in, and . . . stuff.”

Dean takes a deep breath — to compose himself, no other reason — and resists the urge to shuffle closer.

“Hey,” he says softly, and Cas’s eyes somehow get wider.

“Hello, Dean.”

And that — fuck, no way can Dean go the rest of his life not hearing Cas say that with his stupid mouth and his stupid voice and nope, Dean feels done for in ways that pale in comparison to all the close calls he ever had during a war.

“How, uh, how’s it . . . going?”

Cas blinks.

“It’s going.”

If it were anyone else, Dean would think he was being mocked, but Cas just stares away, like he’s waiting to somehow absorb important information directly from Dean’s brain.

“Oh. Good.”

There’s a long silence, and then the girl claps her hands together.

“Well, I’m Daphne. It’s very nice to meet you both,” she adds. She sounds like she’s smiling, but Dean’s not sure why he’d bother looking at her or even Sam when Cas is right in front of him. “Castiel and I were about to return to the castle for dinner. You should join us. I’m sure you have a lot to catch up on.”

“Oh, um, we wouldn’t want to impose . . .” Sam says, and even without looking, Dean can tell he _definitely _wants to impose.

“Not at all. I’d be more than happy to have rooms prepared for you, as well, if you’d like.”

“Oh — thank you, but we’re staying at an inn in town already . . .”

Cas finally tears his eyes away, and Dean tries not to frown.

“You should stay at the castle,” Cas says quickly. “It, um, it’s very beautiful. It . . . would be a shame, if you didn’t have a chance to see it.”

And even in his pathetic fog, it occurs to Dean that they could just see it when they visited, but he still nods.

“Yeah? We should, then. We can just get our stuff from the inn.”

Cas just nods, gaze returning to Dean’s, and everyone’s quiet for a moment.

“Wonderful,” Daphne says. “I’ll make sure someone’s there to receive you, and . . . we’ll see you at dinner.”

She gently tugs Cas back a little, leading him away.

“I’ll see you both at dinner,” he says, glancing between them. “It — it’s good to see you.”

“You, too,” Sam says, and Dean watches as Cas finally turns, walking after Daphne.

A moment later, Sam pinches his arm.

“Dude!” Dean complains, shaking himself and turning with a glower. “_What_?”

Sam just scowls back.

“If you do this again tomorrow, I swear to God I’ll regret bringing you,” he mutters. “Although — it wasn’t _all _bad. Now let’s get our things and see how they are at dinner.”

Still a little confused, Dean trails after him.

And even though he’s still nervous as hell — he saw _ Cas. _And Cas was still Cas, just the way Dean remembered.

And even though that doesn’t really mean anything at all, Dean can’t help but feel better about everything, anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ** SPOILERS **  
Daphne is interested in marrying Cas because they become good friends and she is interested in helping people who are in need, and she believes Cas will be a good partner for that. She also feels that Cas seemed lost, but seems to be finding peace, and that that is a sign.  
At no point is her and Cas’s relationship romantic or sexual. She does offer to help Cas with his heat if that is something he requires, but it is established that that is not something either one of them wants.


	20. Part XX

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: mild sexual content (Dean/Cas, of course), please let me know if I forgot something.
> 
> So, here we are! This is the longest thing I've ever written, and I almost quit before it was even half-finished because it felt like a complete mess and I didn't have confidence that I could finish it in any kind of satisfying way (probably some people wish I had given up, sorry). Without my sister's support and encouragement, I definitely wouldn't have tried. There's a lot of things about this I wasn't happy with, but I was glad I ended up finishing it, and it's been an experience I will treasure, going back through it and hearing your thoughts. Your comments/feedback have been a delight, and they've meant a lot to me. If you're still reading, I'm very thankful to you for coming along for the ride, and I hope the ending doesn't disappoint.
> 
> If you did enjoy this story — I would never have had the courage to post anything if not for Diminuel (SillyBlue). She is a uniquely wonderful and talented person, and one of the kindest people I have ever encountered. I've struggled a lot the last year, and I don't know that I can properly express my gratitude for that kindness, or for all her incredible contributions to the fandom, which have provided so much entertainment and inspiration and comfort, too. I didn't quite understand before, that even just one person enjoying something makes it absolutely worth sharing and putting out there, even if it's scary.
> 
> And for anyone who did enjoy this — thank you, so much, for being that person.
> 
> I hope this is a satisfactory ending, and thank you all very much for reading <3

Dinner is awkward.

Dean misses the vast majority of conversational cues, and Cas is either not feeling very talkative or extremely discomfited by Dean staring at him, because all he does is stare right back and sometimes remember to eat his food while Sam and Daphne exchange polite small talk about the respective differences of their countries.

If Daphne’s upset or confused about why she’s suddenly hosting two princes from a foreign land, she doesn’t show it. Although — they do all take dinner separately, in what Dean’s pretty sure is a small, auxiliary dining room, so he’s also not totally sure they’re not being hidden from the rest of her family.

Either way, he doesn’t care.

Cas sits across from him, which is good, in terms of the staring — not that anything else would probably stop Dean — but also bad, because every time a new course of dinner comes in and somebody else serves Cas his food, Dean feels grumpy.

And kind of itchy. Like he just _ knows _ there’s something he should be doing, like now that Cas is back in his orbit, he needs to prove himself, to show Cas he’s a _ good mate. _

Which is a sobering realization, because Dean is not, in fact, here to prove he’s a good mate, or even a good spouse, and good _friends_ generally don’t look at you over dinner like you _ are _dinner and strategize about carrying you off to a nest afterward to provide for and generally make up to and a host of other egregiously inappropriate impulses Dean’s getting.

Christ, he wasn’t even this bad before Cas left.

But maybe that’s it. It’s been so long — too fucking long — since he’s seen Cas, and he’s had all that time to process what exactly Cas means to him.

What he wishes, selfishly, that he could have had.

That’s fine, though; it just means he’ll adjust, again, and if they can somehow convince Cas to come back with them, Dean will button it up and lock it in a mind trunk and no one will ever be the wiser.

Cas just — he _ has _ to come back. Dean is struggling to understand how he ever considered _ not _going with Sam, because even though they’ve barely said a word to each other, now that they’re together again, he can’t imagine leaving here without him.

Sam politely enthuses over the weird fruit at dessert, but Dean barely tastes it, can’t even bring himself to be grumpy over the sparse meat offerings — though Sam’s probably delighted by the weird cooked-grain salad thing — and then thanks Daphne for the meal and for hosting them. Dean just sort of shuffles after the two of them, glancing not-at-all obviously at Cas, who duly shuffles along beside him.

“It was a pleasure to meet you both,” Daphne says, and Dean forces himself to tear his eyes away from Cas and maneuver a smile of some kind.

“Uh, yeah, you, too.”

Beside him, Sam coughs.

“Likewise! We look forward to getting to know you better. And we thank you for your hospitality; the castle is as beautiful as Cas said.”

Daphne smiles.

“I’m glad it’s to your liking. Someone will show you to breakfast, in the morning. For now, we’ll bid you good night.”

There’s a pause, and then Daphne takes Cas’s arm and starts guiding him down the hall. Cas looks startled.

“Oh — uh, good night, Sam — Dean.”

“Good night,” they both echo, and after a few seconds of watching Daphne guide Cas down the corridor, Sam elbows him.

“Pull yourself together,” he hisses, but Cas just glanced over his shoulder and Dean swears he was looking right at Dean, specifically, so it’s just responsible to stand here in case it happens again — “Dude, _ come on. _Tomorrow. You can do — whatever it is you’re doing tomorrow. Except don’t.”

Sam forcibly turns him and shoves him in the direction of their rooms.

“Hey — I’m not ready—” Dean protests, struggling to turn back around, and Sam huffs.

“You’re ready. Come on.”

And while Sam is definitely not stronger than Dean, he has some size advantage, and Dean’s feeling spectacularly uncoordinated at the moment; in light of that, Dean has no choice but to follow Sam to their rooms.

It doesn’t stop him from feeling like he’s leaving something behind.

“Well, thank you for a, um, a wonderful day, Daphne, I’ll see you in the—”

“Why don’t we talk for a little while before bed?”

Cas throws an anxious glance down the corridor, possibly even in the direction of Sam and Dean’s room, and suppresses a sigh.

“Oh. Of course. Please, come in.”

He doubts he’ll be very good company. He knows it was rude and strange besides, not saying anything at dinner, but — but Dean was _ right there. _And he was looking at Cas — Cas is positive he was — and Cas would have given anything, certainly would have forewent dinner altogether, to have known what Dean was thinking.

If Dean’s been thinking of him.

Why Dean is here in the first place.

Besides, Cas _ doesn’t _ know why Sam and Dean are here, and he doesn’t know when they’re going to go away again, and if the answers to those questions are ‘not for him’ and ‘very soon,’ Cas is hardly going to waste the few moments he has on _ dinner conversation _when it could be one of his last chances to look at Dean like this.

He feels slightly guilty for not being so eager to look at Sam, but wherever Cas is, Sam feels more permanent, somehow. Cas has faith he will always see Sam again, even if it’s not as often as he’d like, that some thread will always tie them and see them brought together.

While Cas suspects he will always be bound to Dean, as well, he isn’t confident that it goes both ways, nor is he sure it will mean anything beyond a quiet companion of hurt, there wherever Cas goes.

They’re all important, urgent questions, inciting his whole mind into an anxious frenzy, and since Cas is therefore going to be useless for talking to tonight, he wishes Daphne would go so he could go find Dean and _ ask him. _

He sits down on the bed, and Daphne settles in beside him, drawing her knees up and studying him curiously.

“We don’t talk about them much. Or — you’ll speak of Sam, sometimes, but — not Dean.”

“No,” he agrees carefully, and she nods.

“May I ask you a question?”

“Alright.” Cas would rather she didn’t, but he supposes he owes it to her, at this point.

Still. He has no desire to be answering difficult, even painful questions. He wants answers, himself.

“Why didn’t Dean marry you? Again, I mean?”

Cas stills, not expecting it.

“I . . .” he starts, then stops, at a loss as to how to finish.

“If that’s too much—” she begins hastily, and he shakes his head.

“No. No, that — that’s a fair question. You’ve, um, you’ve probably guessed I would have. That I wanted to.”

“Did he really not?”

He’s not sure why she bothers asking, when it’s clear that must have been the case.

“No. I wasn’t — he said that — he said I was too young.”

“But you’d already been married.”

“But since we weren’t, anymore, he just — he didn’t believe me, that I — felt the way I did.” Cas hopes Daphne can interpret that much correctly, at least, because he doesn’t think he could get the words out if he tried. “He thought I was misunderstanding myself, because of how we were before. That now that I had choices, I would want something different. And he said he didn’t want to marry me because he wanted me to be able to find someone I chose.”

“But he wouldn’t let you choose him,” she finishes softly.

“No. Of course, that’s fair. He doesn’t, uh, share my feelings. I’m sure he wanted a choice, as well. I don’t — I don’t begrudge him that, you understand, I just — I don’t think I can watch it happen.” He looks down, throat tight. “I suppose this is why they rank peace above passion.”

Daphne doesn’t say anything for a long while, clearly deep in thought, and Cas uses the time to try and regain his composure. The shock and excitement of Dean appearing like that is fading, now that he thinks of how they left things — of _ why _he left things — and uncertainty is taking its place.

He just — doesn’t know.

“Peace always brings contentedness, at least,” Daphne says abruptly. “That is why it ranks higher. When you are at peace, you are content. Passion — passion can bring happiness, _ joy _ _ . _But it too often brings suffering, enough that it cannot be valued the same way. Because you usually don’t know its value, if it has any, until it’s too late.”

“That makes sense,” he says quietly, and she nods.

“Tell me — were you happy, the years you were married? Before it ended?”

“Very,” Cas confirms, not needing to think about it. “Even when I was worried, or sad — it was never about what I had. It was always about what I stood to lose.”

She nods slowly, clearly absorbing.

“I see.”

Another thought occurs to him, and he tentatively reaches out.

“This — does this change things?”

She readily accepts his hand, folding them together, but takes a moment to answer.

“I’m not sure. I want to think about it more. You, too — there is much for you to think about. And regardless of anything, you should spend time with your friends.”

With that, Daphne climbs off the bed, kissing his cheek.

“Good night, Castiel.” She pauses at the door, glancing over her shoulder with a smile. “Oh — before I forget, your sister wrote my father, requesting to visit. I’m not sure what it’s about, but — you have that to look forward to.”

Cas wishes his sister were here already.

“Thank you, I will. Good night, Daphne.”

She shuts the door quietly behind her, and Cas waits a few minutes, just to be sure she will not return.

And then he stands, going to the mirror and carefully straightening his tunic and smoothing his trousers. He’s tempted to put in a comb or barrette, or even tuck a fresh bloom from the arrangement by the window behind his ear, but he doesn’t want to be obvious.

Dean being here may have nothing to do with him, after all, and if Dean notices what he’s doing, he might be uncomfortable.

He might decide he doesn’t want to see Cas at all.

More trepidatious than impatient, now, Cas slips out of the room, heading for the wing where Daphne said she’d put them. He has to stop and ask a jovial and (thankfully) unconcerned maid where exactly to find them, but then he’s on his way.

Minutes later, he takes a deep breath, drawing himself upright, and knocks on Dean’s door. There’s a loud crash from within, followed by a string of curses, and he listens to Dean’s rapid footsteps before the door swings open.

Dean just stares, green eyes wide.

“Hello, Dean,” Cas tries, but it comes out almost a whisper, and Dean takes a deep breath, fingers tightening around the door.

“Cas.” He clears his throat. “Hey, man. Uh, come in.”

Dean doesn’t step back at all, so Cas squeezes in past him, their shoulders brushing. He hears Dean breathe in, and it takes effort not to turn and chase the air.

Once the door is shut, Dean leans back against it, and they stare at one another in silence. Cas wonders if Dean is just as desperate to relearn his face, to search for changes, for any faulty memory, to have something new to keep close for when they part again.

He doesn’t know; he still hasn’t figured out how to separate all his different feelings for Dean, if those are all things he wants because he’s in love with Dean, or just because Dean is a cherished friend he never knows if he’ll see again.

“Why are you here?” Cas asks, unable to stop himself. It’s hard, because it makes him think of Dean’s answer the last time he asked him that. Dean had said, then, that he’d _ always _come for Cas — Sam confirmed it — but this is different.

Cas left, just to leave, and Dean — part of Dean may have been relieved he went.

Dean doesn’t answer for a moment, glancing to the side and rubbing his neck, shrugging.

“Uh. I don’t know.”

Cas frowns.

“You don’t know,” he repeats.

“Well — uh. Sam — Sam wanted to come.”

It stings, though Cas tries not to let it.

“That doesn’t explain why _ you _came.”

Dean’s shoulders draw up ever so slightly.

“Should — should I not have?”

“That’s not — Dean, that’s not what I said. I just — it’s a surprise, to see either of you here, and I don’t — I just want to know why. Or how long you’re staying.”

Dean shrugs.

“A little while. It kinda, uh, depends.”

“On what?”

He shrugs again, looking back at Cas almost _ nervously. _

“On you.”

Cas breathes quietly into the ensuing silence, unsure how to take that.

“You didn’t say why you’re here.”

Dean swallows.

“Wanted to check on you,” he admits, though he doesn’t look away. “This, uh, this whole marriage thing is kind of abrupt. Thought we should make sure it was what you wanted. You — you don’t really have a great track record with this kinda thing.”

Dean half-smiles at the end, like it’s a joke, but Cas just frowns at him.

“What does that mean? Do you mean when Michael made me marry you? Or do you mean when you refused to marry me?”

Dean’s gaze drops like a stone.

“Uh. I — that — Michael. I . . . meant that.”

“I see. Well, I haven’t decided yet, but if I do, it will be my choice.”

Dean rolls his lips inward, nodding, then huffs out a breath.

“Right. Right, but — I mean. Why get married at all?”

“Isn’t that what you wanted me to do?”

Dean looks up, appalled.

“Dude, not like _ this_! And not because _ I _said so!”

“I’m not, and I don’t understand what’s wrong with this. I like Daphne, and I like it here. It’s as good a match as I can — expect.”

Dean eyes him, tense.

“So — you and Daphne are . . .”

Cas lifts his brows, waiting for him to finish, but he doesn’t.

“Dean,” he says, frustrated. “I don’t understand what you’re saying. And I still don’t understand why you thought you had to come all this way to say it.”

He just gets a pained look for his troubles.

“Cas,” Dean starts, then sighs, briefly covering his face with his palm. “Look, I’m just — I’m just gonna be honest with you. I don’t think this is a good idea.”

Cas’s heart falters in his chest.

“Oh.” He swallows, trying not to hope. “Did you . . . did you come here to stop me?”

Dean brightens a little, nodding eagerly.

“Yeah. Yeah, ‘cause — I mean, I’m sure Daphne’s just — great, or whatever, but — but you’re only twenty-one, and — like, you barely know her, and Lawrence is your _ home, _but this is so damn far away from it, and — it just doesn’t — you’re bound to regret it, you know?”

Hopes (predictably) dashed, Cas struggles not to show his disappointment.

“So . . . you think I’m too young, and I haven’t thought it through.”

“I — well, I mean, I didn’t — not _ exactly _that, but — kind of?”

He closes his eyes.

“I see.” Taking a breath, he opens them again, nodding shortly at Dean. “Well. Thank you for saying so. Good night, Dean.”

He turns to go, but Dean surges forward, catching his hand.

“Wait! Wait, don’t — that’s — what does that mean?”

“It means ‘thank you for coming all this way to tell me the same thing you told me a year ago,’” Cas snaps, jerking free. He hates that he _is _disappointed, and _angry, _even, yet the feeling of Dean’s hand on his still makes him want to hold fast.

“What? I did _ not _—”

“You _ did,_” Cas insists, frustrated. “I don’t — I don’t want to hear that from you. I understand that’s how you feel, and I’m sure, someday, I’ll appreciate your concern — but I think you’re wrong. And if I decide to marry Daphne, that’s my choice — a choice, I might add, you keenly wanted me to have.”

“This is _ not _ what I meant, Cas!” Dean grits out, throwing his arms out. “The whole point was that you were supposed to give yourself _ time. _You didn’t do that, though, just ran away with the first pretty face you met—”

“Daphne’s _ face _ has nothing to do with it . Daphne is a good person, and I — I feel _ good _ when I’m with her, and for _ some _people, that’s enough for a marriage!”

Dean quiets, brow furrowed.

“What — what is that supposed to mean?”

Cas just slumps, turning to go perch on the trunk at the foot of the bed.

“You didn’t have to love me, you know,” he mutters. “We could have just — been the way we used to. Weren’t you happy?”

After a long, weighty silence, Dean slowly moves forward, sitting down next to him.

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “Of course I was. You know that. Don’t you?”

Cas shakes his head.

“No. I don’t know if I believe you,” he tells him honestly. “If you were, you would have just — married me again.”

Dean’s quiet for a moment.

“I told you,” he finally says. “Nothing was gonna change. All it meant was that you had options.”

“You mean _ you _had options,” Cas says dully. “Bobby and Anna both told me, more or less, that my feelings would be a burden to you. I wish I’d never said anything.”

He can hear Dean swallow beside him.

“If it helps,” he starts. “I’d already decided not to marry you before you told me how you felt.”

Cas shuts his eyes, feeling terribly winded for someone who’s been sitting down.

“Why would you think that would help?” he whispers.

“I — just — I’m just saying, you didn’t — you didn’t do anything wrong. As soon as I realized we’d gotten out of it—”

“I didn’t _ want _out of it—”

“I knew you had a chance at something better.”

Cas turns, struggling against the sting in his eyes.

“How many times do I have to tell you?” he hisses. “I don’t _ want _something better. You’re — you’re the best there is.”

Dean has the nerve to look _ hopeful. _

“I’m not, Cas, but — if you still feel that way, you’ve gotta know marrying Daphne is a mistake. Just — we just want you to come home. You can figure the rest out there.”

“So — so if I understand correctly,” Cas starts, resentful of the way it comes out halting. “You came all this way to tell me not to marry Daphne, and — and to go back with you and Sam.”

“Yeah? Of course.”

“And — what’s going to change? What — what can you offer me instead?”

And Cas sees it, the exact moment Dean’s eyes shutter and he stiffens, avoiding Cas’s gaze.

“You can’t,” he answers for him, shaking his head. “You — you came all this way just to — just to make me feel _ terrible _—”

“The hell? We came all this way to keep you from making a _ mistake _—”

“If it makes me content, how is it a _ mistake _—”

“And because — we _ love _you, Cas, the whole fucking castle loves you, everyone’s been looking at me like a goddamn monster ever since you left, and if you get married and stay here, they’ll never forgive me.”

“Oh, so you’re _ uncomfortable, _ and somehow that’s _ my _problem—”

“Stop, you know that’s not—”

“Well, you _ deserve _ it. You’re — you’re _ selfish, _ Dean. I — respect that you feel the way you feel, but you can’t have it both ways. I let you decide _ we _ weren’t getting married, because that’s your choice, too, but this has nothing to do with you, and if it happens, it will happen whether you like it or not. And even if it doesn’t — I am still not coming back to Lawrence.”

Dean’s mouth snaps shut, and in his peripheral, Cas can see his knuckles turn white where they ball into fists.

“Cas,” he says, strained. “I just want you to be happy.”

Cas stands, forcing himself to look away.

“Yes, well, that would have been nice. Still, this is good enough. Thank you for coming. I hope you and Sam enjoy your stay.”

And then Cas hastens out of the room before it can turn into anymore of a disaster than it already has.

Once again, he feels like an _ idiot. _

“You did _ what _?”

“I talked to Cas. He’s not coming back with us, by the way,” Dean mutters, and then flinches as Sam hits him with a pillow, though he still doesn’t bother to finish sitting up.

“Dean, you — you — you fucking _ asshole. _ Why didn’t you come get me? We were supposed to _ talk _about this, do this together!”

“Yeah, well, you’re the one who wanted me to come along. Should have known I’d fuck it up, but hey, you’ll know for next time.”

“There is no _ next time_!” Sam nearly shouts. “How are you not getting this? If anything, you’ve probably driven him to decide to do it just to _ spite _you! You — Dean, if he does this — that’s it. You’re out of chances.”

“I already was,” he mutters.

“For God’s sake, Dean, you — ugh. You know what? No. You — I’m done trying to make you see sense. I’ll go talk to Cas myself, and you — you just — stay here and sulk or whatever it is you do best.”

Dean gives him a thumbs up, pulling the blanket back over his head.

“Tell them I’m not hungry,” he calls, muffled through the blanket, but Sam just slams the door in response.

Cas isn’t sure whether to be relieved or disappointed when Sam awkwardly explains Dean’s not feeling up to breakfast this morning. On the one hand, he’s still _ furious, _on the other hand . . .

It’s — it’s _ perverse, _ but as angry and hurt as he was, last night, a part of Cas _ wants _Dean to keep trying to convince him. He likes none of his arguments so far, but — but maybe it’s nice to know it’s at least that important to him to try.

And no, Cas will _ not _ be going back to Lawrence — just seeing Dean _ here _made it abundantly clear he is not and maybe never will be ready for that — but still.

Dean could _ try. _

Daphne, surprisingly, excuses herself to handle some very vaguely referenced business Cas isn’t sure actually exists, but encourages him and Sam to breakfast in the gardens, by the fountain. Poor mood aside, Cas is excited to show them to Sam, and they make their way out to the waiting spread on the table, Sam looking a little awestruck by the time they sit down.

“Wow. Just — wow, the paintings are incredible, and yet — they don’t do them justice. Even in the middle of winter, they’re so . . .”

“I thought so, too. You know, the artist — she chooses not to come back. She’s afraid she’ll see them — she’ll _ paint _them — differently, now that she’s not a child. That they won’t be beautiful anymore.”

Sam doesn’t start eating, considering this for a long, strangely heavy moment.

“That’s stupid,” he says eventually. “Sometimes we — idealize things, as children, and it’s disappointing to see them later. But — that’s how kids are. They see the world better than it is. It’s not a reflection of the thing, itself; it doesn’t mean _ everything _is a lie. It doesn’t mean when you’re grown up, you won’t figure out you were right.”

“True. But she’s afraid she’s wrong.”

“And maybe she should be,” Sam mutters. “Maybe the stupid fucking gardens will let her down, after all.”

Cas tilts his head, curious, and Sam sighs.

“Okay. I’m just — I’m going to level with you, Cas. You’re not stupid, you know Dean and I didn’t come here for a vacation. Especially after he talked to you.”

“Ah. Yes.”

“Sorry, by the way,” Sam adds, looking pained. “He’s — actually, I don’t really have any more excuses for him. But — this isn’t really about him. Or at least, it shouldn’t be.”

“Alright,” Cas says slowly, prompting him to continue.

“Dean — Dean’s just one person, even if he is important. The most important, maybe. There’s still other important things. Like — like — Layla still puts out honeycakes, but nobody eats them, because they’re too _ sad,_” Sam blurts out, and Cas stares.

“That’s horrible.”

“Right? But we can’t. We all just go quiet when we look at them, and we think about what’s missing, and Layla _ knows _ no one eats them since she has to take them into the town when they start getting stale, but she keeps making them. And she does that, because she doesn’t want to get out of the habit, because she’s still waiting for you to come back. We’re all waiting. There’s this — this empty, Cas-shaped space at training, at all the meals, in the library, literally _ everywhere, _ for everybody, one way or another, and we’re not — we don’t get _ used _ to it. It’s just _ there, _big and obvious, and so we wait.”

“Sam — Sam, I don’t think I—”

“Just — just listen, Cas. I know this thing with Dean is awful, and I know, when you think about coming home, that’s what you think of. You think of having to be around him when he doesn’t want you. But there’s — there’s so many other things at home. Your whole _ family _ is there, Cas, except Anna, and she’s at least _ closer, _ when you’re there. Your _ life _ is there. Dean’s a big part of it, sure, but — he’s not _ all _of it. Don’t we matter?” he finishes quietly, hazel eyes big and sad and clearly full of doubt about the answer that he’s going to get, and Cas feels like the worst person in the world.

“Sam — Sam, of _ course _ you all matter — very much — I just — I _ want _to come home, but I—”

“Then _ come home_. It — I’m not going to say it won’t be hard, but — it’ll be harder if you don’t.”

“It’s easier here,” he argues, and Sam shakes his head.

“It was easier in Eden, and then it wasn’t. You can’t just run away from this, not — not when you’re leaving so much behind.”

“I can _ try._”

“I wouldn’t,” Sam says quietly. “Your sister could abdicate the throne tomorrow and come to Lawrence and marry Val and I — yeah, I think I’d want some time away, too, but I wouldn’t leave my home, or my family. And I wouldn’t leave you.”

It’s not fair. Sam _ knows _that isn’t going to happen — even if it is an oddly specific scenario — so it’s easy for him to say such things.

Cas, on the other hand, knows it _ will _happen, and Sam can’t reasonably expect him to try and cope with that up close.

He’s about to say so, but Sam beats him to it.

“I wouldn’t. I — I should have come after you sooner, last time you ran away, and — and maybe even this time, too. But you’re my family, Cas. You’re my brother, whether you and Dean are married or not, and — and I love you. I don’t want to just see you once a year, or even less than that. You’re part of what makes home _ home, _Cas, so — so please. Come back.”

Sam is not Dean; this, Cas knows. Sam has always been there to talk things over with Cas, to provide insight and understanding and emotional perspective, and has always been open about his affection and care.

Still, Cas also knows that Sam doesn’t always ask the same of others, doesn’t necessarily share the deeper things, the things he worries about or struggles to understand, and Cas knows, then, that this speech probably costs him.

Wordlessly, he gets up, rounding the table and bending to pull Sam into a hug.

“I love you very much, Sam,” he whispers, fighting tears. “You’re — _ so _important to me, and I don’t want to leave you either. And — and I need you to understand, that if I stay here, it has nothing to do with you.”

“But that’s not enough to make you come home,” he mumbles, though he slips his arms around Cas, holding fiercely. That simple, uncharacteristic act of clinginess nearly has Cas giving in.

“I haven’t decided,” he says honestly. “And — you make a good point. Eden _ was _easier, and then it wasn’t. Maybe I am being too hasty, here.”

“I think so, but maybe I’m biased,” Sam jokes, though the wet-sounding sniff at the end has Cas’s heart squeezing painfully.

“I’ll think about what you said. I’ve just — I’ve been trying to distract myself from all of that, from what I’m leaving behind, but — maybe that’s the wrong way to do things.”

He draws away, a little, and Sam lets go, awkwardly wiping at his eyes and clearly struggling to keep his expression from crumbling.

Cas knows the feeling.

“Okay,” he says, offering a small, slightly-wobbly smile. “That — that sounds good. Just — just think about it. It’s your choice, obviously, but—”

“But I’ll think about it,” Cas finishes, and Sam nods firmly, looking down at the table.

“I guess we should eat,” he says, hands clasped tightly in his lap, and after a moment’s hesitation, Cas returns to his chair, scooting it a little closer, so they’re side by side instead of across.

“The food here is very nice. Although there’s no bacon,” he adds, and Sam huffs a laugh.

“I guess it’s a good thing Dean’s not hungry, then.”

Sam comes back from breakfast with red eyes and suspiciously blotchy skin, and Dean would make fun of him for crying if he weren’t too busy hoping it had worked.

After all, Dean can’t say no to a crying Sam, and never could; honestly, Sam usually doesn’t even have to go that far before Dean caves. That’s just a fact. Maybe Cas isn’t Sam’s older brother, but he’s something, and — well, can _ he _say no?

“What’d he say?”

Sam just sighs.

“He says he’ll think about it.”

Dean tries and fails not to be disappointed.

There’s a lot of that, over the next few days. Daphne urges them to go out, explore the beach, attend the theater — and admittedly, there _ is _a lot to see and do — and they manage to make the time pass, though there’s a strange tension that never quite leaves, and the closer they get to the end of the courtship, the more that tension seems to grow. Sometimes, Cas and Daphne join them, and sometimes they don’t, and while Dean occasionally toys with the idea of going to find Cas and trying to convince him again, he always chickens out. After all, he’s kind of proven Sam right.

He _ sucks _at this.

And Dean thinks — maybe even knows — there’s a way he could convince Cas, but that isn’t what he came here to do, and it’s definitely not fair to Cas. Even if Dean is increasingly convinced he’s the lesser evil here — Daphne’s a nice girl, sure, but she’s just so _ bland, _ at least in Dean’s opinion, anyway — it doesn’t change the fact that it’s still an evil, and ideally Cas wouldn’t choose _ either. _

Still, it’s hard. There’s what Cas said, that first night, but beyond that, there’s the way he looks at Dean. There’s this weird sense that he’s not just over there thinking, like he promised Sam he would, but that a part of him is _ waiting, _too, and Dean’s afraid Cas is still waiting on him, even if he should know better.

Dean tells himself to ignore it. He can’t give Cas what he wants, he _ can’t, _and it’s better to pretend Cas doesn’t really want it in the first place.

(And he doesn’t. Dean has to remind himself of that, too; Cas doesn’t actually want Dean, is still caught up on old, weird ideas, and since it looks like it’s going to take him a while to figure all that out, they’re all just going to have to ignore it for now.)

It’s a lot easier said than done.

They’re there four days when Dean wakes up early, the dawn still muzzy and blue. He tries to go back to sleep — he didn’t exactly go to bed early — but gives up around the time pink starts threading through the sky outside his window.

And that, really, is what sends him outside. The figure on the beach should be unrecognizable, curled up and distant as it is and the morning light still too dim to offer any clarification, but Dean instinctively knows who it is, and he throws on his clothes and quietly heads outside.

“Little close to the water, buddy,” he comments, and he sees the surprise ripple through Cas’s shoulders, though he doesn’t turn.

“That’s the point. You can hear the tide rushing toward you — feel the spray when it breaks.”

“I don’t follow.”

Cas hasn’t told him to go away, so Dean plunks down beside him, resting his arms on his bent knees.

“If I close my eyes,” Cas explains quietly, almost reverently, “It feels like it does in the dreams. Like I’m flying.”

“Oh.” Dean looks out across the water, not sure what to say. “Where’s your feather-stone, anyway? It was, uh, weird. To see you not wearing it.”

Wordlessly, Cas reaches into his tunic, tugging on a silver chain until a pendant falls free.

Dean swallows.

“Cord break?”

Cas shakes his head.

“Hester disapproved. She wanted me to wear nicer jewelry, and this was the compromise.”

“Oh. I thought she was just a cycle attendant?”

Cas smiles, a slight, wry thing.

“Yes, well. She volunteered as my omegasmaid, since she felt guilty for letting me leave with you.”

Dean frowns.

“Wasn’t her decision.”

“Few people respect my decisions, so that was nothing new.”

And yup, Dean’s got nothing.

“It’s funny,” Cas continues, still watching the water creep closer. “She wanted to find me a new alpha. Of course, you were never my alpha, and Anna had to explain to me what she was doing.”

Dean swallows painfully, although that — all of that — is fair.

“No luck, huh? Unless Daphne in there’s got a secret.”

Cas doesn’t laugh.

“I probably could have. I even tried kissing Balthazar, since I thought maybe that was the problem — you were the only experience I had — but it didn’t work. It was very embarrassing, actually,” he adds, tone purely conversational. “I cried, because it wasn’t you.”

“Oh. Uh. He — he didn’t, like, do anything—”

“No. He didn’t have to. That was enough.”

This — all of this — is totally unexpected, and Dean doesn’t know what to do besides sit there like an idiot.

“I don’t think you understand,” Cas says suddenly. “My feelings. You say I love you because I never felt like I had a choice. But that’s not really how it was.”

“I don’t know how you can know that.”

“I can. When I was — very young, not long after we were married, I think, Anna explained to me what love was. I remember — she told me, when you marry someone when you don’t have to, it’s probably love. Among other things. Anyway, I concluded you and I weren’t in love, and I was worried that we should be, if we wanted to be happy. She assured me it’s not necessarily a good thing, that it often makes people _ unhappy. _ I was — pleased with us. That we weren’t. I didn’t want to be unhappy, and I didn’t want to make you unhappy.”

“Oh.”

“Of course, I _ was _very young, and I didn’t worry about it for a while. But then you were upset, when I said I didn’t love you.”

Dean’s stomach sinks.

“So — so you felt pressured—”

“No,” Cas cuts him off, faintly impatient. “I did not. I felt immensely guilty, but I wasn’t about to _ lie _ to you. I was fully convinced I didn’t love you, in any way, because the only experience I had with love was with Anna. And I knew I loved Sam, because I love him in a very similar way to how I love Anna. But with you, I — I was sure I _ almost _loved you, because I was so very fond of you, and I wanted to spend so much time with you, but how I felt about you was different than how I felt about Sam, so — so I thought it wasn’t love.”

“You said something like that. That Sam told you there’s different kinds.”

“I still didn’t know what kind, but I was happy. Thinking I loved you felt right.”

“Yeah, but — but there _ are _different kinds, Cas. Who’s to say you really know what kind you feel?”

“Be quiet,” Cas commands pleasantly, and Dean shuts his mouth. “So, after that — Valencia came. And while we were waiting to greet her, I was watching Bobby and Ellen playing around with each other, and I thought — that’s different. It’s like Sam and Dean, but there’s something different. And I don’t remember why, but I asked myself — if I weren’t already married to you, would I want to be? And I thought what you did. I thought, well, I _ am, _so just because I’m happy, doesn’t mean that’s why, or that I’d make that decision.

“But then I thought, would I be just as happy being married to Sam?” Cas looks down, away from the sea, splaying his fingers in the sand. “And I knew right away that the answer was ‘no.’”

“But — I thought you loved Sam.”

Cas tilts his head, though he doesn’t look at Dean.

“I do love Sam.”

“Like, that you were in love with Sam, back then.”

He frowns.

“I was never in love with Sam. I was in love with you. I was afraid we’d be unhappy because of it, and I wanted to make it stop, and Bobby even told me I wasn’t _allowed_ to be in love with you, when I asked how — but I was still, always, in love with you.”

And that — that doesn’t make a lick of goddamn sense.

“That’s not — you’ve gotta be remembering wrong, Cas, because at least for a little while, you were. Bobby _ told _ us you said you’d rather be married to Sam.”

“I said no such thing. I wanted to be sure of my feelings, and I asked him what it meant when you’d rather be married to one person than another, but I never loved Sam that way and I never told anyone I did.” Cas finally looks at him, a frustrated, sidelong thing. “You _ knew _ I loved you, then. You told me yourself it was bad. I had to pretend not to care about you for weeks so you’d believe when I said I wasn’t in love with you anymore.”

No amount of fresh ocean air could clear the confusing tangle inside Dean’s brain right now.

“What? I never — Cas, last year was the first I ever heard of you being in love with me — shit, I practically held your hand for months when Sam and Val were doing their thing so you wouldn’t be so heartbroken—”

Cas screws up his face, looking comically offended.

“I don’t know how else to tell you, but I was not, at any time, in love with Sam, and you — you _ did _ know. We _ talked _about it, after you came home from Purgaea, and — you told me it was bad!”

“I thought we were talking about you and Sam!” Dean protests, feeling vaguely hysterical, which is fair, because apparently he’s been existing in a separate reality all this time without knowing it.

And — oh, God, he thought Cas was upset about _ Sam, _ and his solution was to hover and coddle and — oh _ God. _

“Fuck.”

Cas huffs, the muscle in his jaw twitching.

“It’s just as well. If you don’t want my feelings now, you certainly wouldn’t have then. I would have had to hide it either way.”

“That’s — I—”

“The point, Dean,” he says tiredly, “Is that my understanding of love, when I was younger, was that it was not a good thing. You say it made my situation more — _ palatable — _ but it didn’t. It caused me no end of stress, at multiple points, though I eventually accepted it. Anna was entirely right. I don’t regret marrying you, or knowing you, or loving you — but I wish, right now, that I didn’t. I wish I _ would _ grow out of it, because it made both of us unhappy, and at least for me, I don’t know if it will ever stop. And I understand that the real issue is that you _ don’t _love me, but as far as me not understanding my feelings — I spent a long time figuring them out, Dean, as well as believing they were wrong, so don’t — don’t try to say this is something our circumstances pushed me into. I love you, for you, and it is as simple as that. I considered myself yours not because Michael or your father or anyone else said so; not because I am an omega and you were the alpha with authority over me, or even because you smell wonderful to me.

“I was yours,” he continues, quiet and even, “Because you are you and I am me; and how, then, could I _ not _ be yours, when it made so much sense — when I wanted you to always be mine?”

That rough, itchy sensation is creeping into Dean’s throat with a vengeance.

“Cas—”

Cas stands, slipping in the sand a little, but steady in a way Dean doesn’t know how to handle.

“And I still don’t know if I’ll marry Daphne, but whether I’m fifteen or fifty, Dean, I think I’m going to love you. And no matter how uncomfortable you are with that, it’s not something you can change or talk me out of, so — so remember that, please. That it just _ is. _And when you ask me to come home, or anything else for that matter, remember that my feelings are real, and I am going to have to live with them for a very long time. And you are wrong to take that for granted.”

Cas turns and starts walking back up the beach, but Dean doesn’t call after him, and he doesn’t follow.

He sits there, seawater wetting his toes and seeping into his pants, and tries to figure out what the hell he’s supposed to do.

Cas plans to stay in his room for lunch — he has a lot to think about, per Sam’s request — but Daphne comes to see him, inviting him to take it with her on her balcony.

“I wanted to tell you something,” she says, and though she’s as relaxed and friendly as ever, Cas senses it’s important.

He follows her to her room, settling in his usual chair and watching the horizon.

Daphne seems in no hurry to tell him anything, chattering on about the usual things as they eat their sandwiches, and Cas guiltily avoids pulling any raw carrots off the plate of vegetables. Daphne either never notices or doesn’t feel it’s her place to remark on, which Cas _ should _think is a good quality in a spouse, but instead pretends not to have an opinion about.

Once their plates are clean and Daphne’s finished explaining an idea she has for a charity program in the city, she turns to him.

“I know our courtship doesn’t end for a few more days,” she says, gaze intent. “But I’ve come to a decision.”

It takes Cas a moment to respond; it’s not at all what he was expecting her to say.

“Oh.”

“I thought I should tell you now, rather than later.”

He’s not sure how to interpret that, but he’s hardly going to stop her.

“Alright. What . . . what have you decided?”

She takes a deep breath, reaching for both his hands.

“I don’t think we should get married.”

Cas knows a flicker of disappointment, it’s true, but there’s a sharp sense of relief alongside it that makes him wonder if Daphne’s right.

“I see. May I ask why? Is this — is it because of Dean? Because Dean will be leaving, and if I marry you, I am committed to that—”

Daphne shakes her head.

“That’s not it. Well, it is, but it isn’t. I’m not worried you won’t be committed to me, Castiel. I’m worried you won’t be happy.”

“I like you. And I like it here.”

“And you know I like you. But — I’ll be honest. I misunderstood some things, about yours and Dean’s relationship. And I may have interpreted certain things based on that.”

“I . . . don’t understand.”

“I can explain, but first — although I don’t feel it’s right, to marry you, I want you to know you’re welcome here, for as long as you want. Forever, even. I am happy to spend our days as we have been, and I will be happy to have you work with me, like I’d hoped. But I think I was silly — which is not to say my father was _ right — _ because we don’t need to be married, for any of that. I guess I thought — it felt — solid. Like taking a step toward my goals. It’s not necessary, though. We _ are _both young.”

“Old enough,” Cas argues, and she nods seriously.

“Yes. But we have time, if we need it. And maybe we wouldn’t, if it were a good match, but I’m not sure it will be. I’m not sure I can be.”

“The things you misunderstood,” he clarifies, and she nods.

“I assumed — I thought you’d been abandoned by someone you hadn’t chosen in the first place. I thought your unhappiness was something that had been a long time in the making — which, given the circumstances, seemed reasonable. And you’re too — _ you — _to be in Eden, so I thought — here is a lost, unhappy soul, who has nowhere to belong. So I brought you here, and you fit, and we get along rather well, and — and perhaps I’m superstitious, but I felt sure that was a sign. That this was the happy ending to your story, and a purpose in mine.”

“Oh.”

“Yes.” She smiles. “But I think it’s a lesson, instead. One I don’t regret at all, but — I wasn’t looking properly, Castiel. You’re not at peace, here. You’re just hiding from your conflict. And you can’t be content here, when you’ve left your happiness somewhere else.”

“I can’t be happy there anymore,” he points out, quiet, and she squeezes his hands.

“I think you can. I probably don’t seem like a reliable source of advice, given my errors, but — even if you can’t have what you want now, I think, if you go back, you may get it after all.”

“What do you mean?”

“He loves you,” she says simply, and even though he knows better, Cas’s heart loses its rhythm. “I don’t believe I’m mistaken about that. I think it’s the kind of love you want, but even if I’m wrong, I think it doesn’t matter. He loves you _ enough, _in some way, that I think you can make each other happy, even if he needs time.”

“You don’t understand, Daphne — he may meet someone else—”

“Not when he loves you like that,” she says, appalling in all her serene confidence. “Devotion is better than romance, some say.”

“His father will make him marry.”

“And you think he will?”

“He married _ me. _”

“Well, that was before he met you,” she points out cheerfully, and Cas just stares.

“How can you be so certain?”

“It’s a flaw,” she admits. “Even when I’m mistaken — as I was with you — I’m certain. But he’s a little easier to read, I think.”

“He’s more complicated than anyone gives him credit for.”

Daphne doesn’t argue that.

“Don’t be afraid, Castiel. The Isles are here. They’re not going anywhere. You’re unhappy. Why don’t you try? And if it’s worse, or if it becomes worse, then come back. But I don’t think you lose anything by going now. Right now, I think you lose by staying.”

Cas shakes his head, hands curled against his thighs.

“I can’t,” he whispers. “If I go — Daphne, even if it _ is _worse, I’m not sure I can leave again.”

She’s quiet a moment.

“Isn’t that your answer?”

“What does that even _ mean_?” he bites out, vexed, but Daphne isn’t disturbed.

“Think about it,” she tells him. “You have time. Just think about it.”

“I’ve done nothing but think about this for _ months _—”

“You’ve thought of what you’re afraid of, Castiel. That’s different. Fear spurs any man to inaction.” Cas is beginning to _ hate _the literary obsession of the isles. “Don’t think about the things that make you want to hide. Think about the things that make you want to stay. The things you give up, when you run. Whether that’s worth it.”

It’s not fair. Cas has very carefully avoided thinking about what he’s giving up by leaving Lawrence for good. If he thinks about it, then—

Then he’ll want to go back.

And if he goes back, eventually, he’ll be unhappy.

Of course, if what Daphne’s saying is true, he’s not happy now, and he never will be, even if he stays here.

But he _ has _been avoiding thinking of everything, and he’s been — content. Or at least, he’s been able to pretend. And who’s to say that won’t become reality, if he waits long enough? Maybe it will be like in Eden — the newness will wear off and he’ll become sad again — but it’s really not like Eden at all, so there’s not really a good reason to think that will happen.

Is there?

Daphne gently sets his hands down, standing.

“I’m going to take a walk. Would you like to come?”

Cas slowly shakes his head.

“No. No, I’m — I should ‘think’ as you say. I don’t know that it will do any good, but — I’ll try.” He hesitates. “Thank you for being honest with me.”

“Always,” she says simply, and with a wave, goes back inside to don her shawl and walking boots.

Cas looks out over the sea for a little while longer before he makes himself return to his room.

Thinking, he quickly decides, is very much overrated.

Dean goes back out to the beach to hunt for seashells, since it’s a thing Cas mentioned he found very soothing and relaxing, but if he’s being honest, it’s not doing a whole lot for him.

He’s inspecting a pale pink spiral shell, presumably once home to a crab of some sort, when a shadow falls over the ground in his peripheral.

He calmly turns; he’s pretty sure no one’s going to attack him, but he figures he shouldn’t leave his back vulnerable, just in case.

Daphne lifts a hand.

“Hello.”

“Uh. Hey,” he says, awkwardly returning the wave. “How’s it going?”

“Good.” She gives him a considering look, then abruptly smiles. “I had a fruitful talk with Castiel.”

“Oh.” Part of him wants to ask, but he’s honestly not sure what she considers ‘fruitful,’ if this is about dinner plans or deep, dark secrets about Dean.

“Yes. I came to a decision early, and — well, there’s no point in waiting, once one is sure.”

Dean’s stomach drops.

“A decision? About—”

“The courtship. I’m very pleased with it. I think Castiel will be very happy.”

“You mean you—”

“It’s his news to tell,” she says kindly, smiling wider. “I had better finish my walk, before it gets too cool. Enjoy your afternoon, Dean.”

Daphne strolls away, utterly unconcerned — except that’s gotta be a lie, the asshole is probably taking a fucking walk so she doesn’t embarrass herself crowing with delight over talking Cas into _ marrying _her — and Dean clutches the little pink shell in his palm, distantly surprised he doesn’t crush it.

Because Cas is — jesus, Cas said _ yes. _ After everything, after — after Sam _ crying — _Cas is going to stay here and marry Daphne and—

Oh, God. This is it. They’re — they’re losing him.

For _ good. _

Dean stumbles back up the shore, to the pretty stone walkway, hurrying back into the castle with no idea what he’s going to do but suddenly acutely, terrifyingly aware that he has to do _ something. _

Because this is real, this isn’t just an empty threat, this isn’t Cas having a tantrum or a crisis or consoling himself by keeping an option open — Cas just made a commitment, a _ lifelong _commitment, to be apart from Dean for as long as they both shall live.

And that’s — wrong. It’s wrong on such a deep, intrinsic level, Dean half-expects his skin to try and turn itself inside out just to get away from the wrongness curdling within.

He doesn’t even knock when he reaches Cas’s door, just pushes it open and stands there, breaths too quick and shell still clenched in one fist at his side.

“You win,” he says, hoarse from panic and a throat made crowded by all his greatest fears coming to pass. Cas lurches upright on the bed, and Dean barely spares a thought to feeling bad for disrupting what was probably a nap. “You win, I’ll — whatever you want, I’ll do it.”

Cas stares at him, stunned and completely baffled, if Dean’s reading him right.

“I — what?”

“Look, I — you — you need to tell Daphne you changed your mind, because you’re coming back to Lawrence.”

“Changed my mind? And I don’t — I don’t know if I’m coming back to Lawrence.”

Dean sags back against the door, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Yes. Damn it, yes, you _ are_. I give in, okay? I’ll marry you. I’m gonna make you fucking miserable, and you’re gonna leave me, anyway, but I’ll take what you can give me until then. You just — you just can’t do this. You can’t leave, not like this.”

When he opens his eyes again, Cas is staring, mouth literally hanging open.

“You — you’ll _ marry _ me?”

“Yep. First town we make it to back in Lawrence, if you want. Or a big, stupid celebration at the castle six months from now. Whatever you want, I don’t fucking care, just so long as you—” He stops, taking a deep breath. “I can’t leave here without you.”

For a moment, Cas starts to smile, lips twitching up, eyes crinkling — but then it fades right from his face, and Dean braces himself for some stupid bullshit excuse, like ‘sorry, but I already made a promise to Daphne.’

Fuck promises, though. Fuck trying to be selfless. Dean may actually _ need _Cas, plain and simple, and he doesn’t care what he has to do, short of blatant kidnapping, to get him back in Lawrence.

“I’m sorry,” Cas says, and _for the love of God_— “I didn’t know it would be so difficult for you both, my being gone.”

“Well, it was, if by ‘difficult,’ you mean the end of the fucking world, one day at a time.”

Cas’s brow pinches.

“I’m sorry,” he says again, softer. “But — Dean, I don’t want you to marry me just to get me to come back to Lawrence. I’m — I’m tempted, but if it’s not what you really want, then you’re bound to regret it, and—”

“Cas, how do you not get this, by now? I’m not going to regret it. I never did, and I never will. The person who’s going to regret it — who’s gonna want _ out — _is you. But we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it. For now, let’s just — let’s go home.”

Cas looks so _ confused, _it would be kind of adorable if Dean weren’t having a complete meltdown.

‘You — are you saying that — you _ do _want to marry me?”

“Yes, _ obviously! _Do you wanna marry me or not?”

“I — of course I — but — why? Is it really just so I’ll come home?” he clarifies, a strange sort of nervousness in his face.

Dean hesitates.

“Yes and no?”

Cas’s face falls.

“What does that mean?”

And God help him, Dean still doesn’t wanna have to say it, but he’s not sure Cas is going to go for this, if he doesn’t, and going home without Cas is no longer an option.

“It means—” Dean hesitates, then pushes off the door and goes to perch at the foot of the bed. “It means I wouldn’t marry you, if I thought there was another way.”

Cas almost seems to fold in on himself.

“Oh,” he says, a world of devastation in that single word, and Dean cringes.

“But it also means I want to — have wanted to — for a lot of other reasons, too.”

“Like what?” Cas whispers, searching Dean’s face, and Dean shrugs.

“Because — because you’re my best friend. And my best knight. And my family.”

“And that’s — that’s all?”

“No. It should be. But it’s not, Cas. Hasn’t been for a long time.”

Cas just looks at him, fingers curled around the blanket, and waits.

“I — I want to marry you because you’re — shit, you’re you. You make me wanna smile for no goddamn reason, like a total dumbass. You make me sleep soundly, when there’s probably a lot of reasons I shouldn’t. You make meals taste better just by sharing them with me, and you make me laugh so much I totally take it for granted, and — and you’re _ mine, _because for whatever reason, you want to be, and I don’t wanna know what it’s actually like if you’re not.”

Cas blinks at him with wide eyes.

“Oh.” He licks his lips. “And _ that — _that’s all? Right?”

There’s hope in that question, and even though Dean can feel the heat creeping into his cheeks though he hasn’t even said a goddamn word about it, he shakes his head.

“Nah,” he manages, aiming for nonchalant and missing by a mile. “I also wanna marry you because you’re — you’re fucking gorgeous. Because your blue flower comb makes your eyes pop, and you look as incredible in trousers as you do in a dress — even if it is grey — and every damn thing about you from your ridiculous hair to your _ gums _ to your assassin’s thighs to your fucking feet is just — _ beautiful. _ I wanna marry you because I was drunk off my ass on New Years and I’m pretty sure you were, too—”

“I was,” Cas assures him, earnest and looking faintly enraptured, and Dean nods.

“Yeah. We were both more ale than brains at that point, and kissing you was still pretty much the greatest thing I think I’ve ever experienced. In fact, I wanna marry you because I dream about doing all _ kinds _ of appalling, depraved, filthy shit to you—”

A tiny noise escapes Cas at this point, but Dean swears he leans forward a little, so he steels himself and powers on.

“And I’d like to do it in real life, too. I wanna marry you ‘cause I’m sick of sleeping alone and spending my ruts alone and because I don’t have to do that, but I do, anyway, because I don’t want company if it’s not going to be you. And I maybe, kind of wanna marry you because I—” And the words dry up in his mouth, then, because Dean’s the kind of awful, sorry excuse for a person who can tell their former child-husband they want to debauch the shit out of him but they can’t tell him they _ love _him. “I — you know I—”

Cas shoves off the covers and practically launches himself into Dean’s lap, gripping his face almost painfully between his hands.

“I love you, too,” he says, very seriously, and then he kisses him, firm and purposeful and way, way more than Dean deserves.

He abruptly tears away after that, only to wrap his arms around Dean, tucking his face against Dean’s neck as he continues.

“And I will marry you. And not just because Daphne told me she wouldn’t marry me, after all.”

Dean starts nodding for a split second, shaking with shock and relief and still not quite all together, before he freezes.

“What?”

Cas presses a soft kiss to his neck, then drags his nose along it, breathing deeply.

“At lunch. She told me we shouldn’t get married,” he explains, voice muffled and suspiciously hazy.

“But — but — that _ dick. _”

Cas pulls back at that, frowning heavily.

“Why would you say that?”

“Because! She — dude, she made it sound like you guys had _ agreed. _ To get _ married. _”

Cas tilts his head, puzzled.

“Are you sure? That doesn’t really make sense.”

“No fucking kidding! I thought you were gonna — I thought I had to—” He stops short at the look on Cas’s face.

“I . . . I won’t hold you to it,” Cas offers haltingly, disappointment palpable, which — maybe that scrawny almost-ginger pulled one over on him, but what’s done is done, and there’s never a good reason for Cas to look like that. “If you honestly—”

Cas cuts off with a startled grunt as Dean tugs them to the side and down, rolling him onto his back and pressing down a little, if only because he knows Cas can take it.

“No take backs,” Dean reminds him seriously, and then he kisses him, because he’s allowed.

And sure, there may come a day when he won’t be, when karma will catch up to him and he’ll be punished for being weak and selfish and refusing to let Cas go, a day when Cas really _ will _leave for good—

But right here, right now, Cas gripping his shoulders tightly and kissing back like that?

It’s really fucking hard to care.

It’s a little hazy, given all the kissing and Dean _ thisclose _to losing it over whatever amazing thing Cas’s scent does as a result, but somehow he gets them both under the blanket, Cas all wrapped up in his arms, and there they stay, the rest of the world forgotten.

Cas’s scent sort of stops doing that awesome thing around the time Dean disengages from the kisses, starting to feel overwhelmed and just wanting to — to _ hold onto _him, but after a suspiciously resigned-sounding sigh he puts his arms around Dean and pulls him as close as he’s able.

“I expect you to honor _ all _your promises, Dean,” he mutters darkly, like a warning, but Dean can’t bring himself to untuck his face from Cas’s neck.

“Hmm?”

There’s another sigh.

“Nothing.”

“Mm.”

Dean burrows back in, brain lazily soaking in all kinds of _ happy, safe, home, mate _hormones, and promptly forgets to worry about it.

He’s not sure how much time passes before there’s an urgent-sounding knock on the door, and Cas shifts slightly to call out.

“Yes?”

“Cas? Sorry to bother you, but — have you seen Dean? He went out to take a walk hours ago, which — that’s kind of weird on its own, but I can’t find him and I, um, I’m starting to get worried.”

Dean and Cas exchange guilty looks.

“Uhhh,” Cas starts. “Yes. I believe Dean is . . . perfectly fine.”

There’s a long silence.

“Cas. Is Dean in there with you?”

Cas winces.

“Yes?”

Another pause.

“Are you coming back to Lawrence with us?”

“Yes,” Cas says again, more firmly, and there’s such a long pause, Dean thinks his brother probably flounced off, assuming the worst.

“I’m coming in in thirty seconds,” Sam then announces, and Dean reluctantly lets go of Cas, shifting away slightly to let him sit up.

Shortly after, Sam bursts in, looking suspiciously blotchy and damp-eyed.

Without a word, he marches over to Cas and seizes him in a bear hug.

“Thank _ God,_” he sniffs, and Dean looks away, suddenly feeling a little less vindicated over how he’s been the last year.

He’s not sure, actually, how Sam would take it if this hadn’t worked, if Cas were staying here after all, and he’s ridiculously glad he isn’t going to have to find out.

Cas squeezes Sam back, and given what Dean knows about their respective strengths, he’s mildly worried they’ll end up participating in an accidental murder-suicide via crushing by the third minute.

Finally, Sam lets go, wiping his eyes.

“Okay. Okay.” He nods, sniffling. “Thanks, Cas.”

“Thank _ you, _Sam.” He hesitates. “If it helps — I thought about it, a lot, and I’d mostly decided to come back before Dean came to see me.”

Sam shakes his head, then shrugs, then nods, looking at the floor.

“It does,” he says quietly, and then again, “Thank you.”

“Daphne did also change her mind about marrying him,” Dean adds, just to be a dick, and also because seeing his little brother like this is kind of alarming.

Cas gives him an unimpressed look.

“Which had _ very little _ to do with it. She did tell me, however, to stop thinking about the things I was afraid of and think about the things I’d be giving up.” Cas reaches out, fingers loosely pinching Sam’s tunic sleeve. “You are one of those things, Sam. And I would rather not give you up.”

Sam swallows, still not looking at Cas, and nods.

“I — yeah. Yeah, you, um, you don’t have to, it looks like.” He clears his throat. “Hey, I think I’m gonna — I’m gonna go lie down before dinner, okay? I’ll, um, I’ll see you guys in a little while.”

Dean would feel bad about holding the cuddling monopoly on Cas at the moment — Dean sure as hell doesn’t want to go back to his room by _himself_ — if he didn’t know that being alone was something his brother probably needed right now.

“Alright. Thank you, Sam. For coming to get me.”

Sam lets out a breathless laugh, rubbing neck.

“Of course. Any time.”

He shuffles out the door and shuts it carefully behind him, so it hardly makes a sound, and Cas watches him go, small smile fading.

“I didn’t mean to hurt anyone,” Cas says sadly, and Dean rests a hand on his back, lightly circling.

“He knows that. But it’s hard not to, Cas. Sam — everybody — loves you a lot. It’s not really something they can just get over.”

Cas nods, then turns, curling into Dean.

“I’m coming home,” he says, and Dean’s not sure who Cas is talking to, or if he’s telling himself, but he nods, surprisingly relieved to hear Cas say it.

“Maybe we should write everyone and tell ‘em you married Daphne, so it’ll be a surprise.”

There’s silence.

“And would you appreciate that, if Sam had come by himself?”

Dean hides a grin in Cas’s hair, despite the chill that that sends through him.

“Usually fratricide goes the other direction for two princes.”

Cas laughs, and then he laughs harder, till his shoulders are shaking, and then, still grinning too widely to do it effectively, he catches Dean’s smile against his own.

To Dean’s frustration and — if he’s being totally honest — concern, Cas insists on staying until his sister arrives.

“I’m not even sure why she’s coming. She may be expecting me to be here.”

“But—”

“You and Sam can go back without me, Dean. I’ll follow,” Cas proposes, stubborn as ever, but Dean can read the uneasy glint in his eye that says he hates that idea just as much as Dean does.

“It is getting somewhat difficult to hide you from my parents,” Daphne points out helpfully.

“I _ knew _it,” Dean mutters, and Cas sighs.

“It’s only a few weeks.”

“We’ll send a guard with Castiel,” Daphne assures him. “You don’t have to worry.”

And despite spending most of the day all snuggled up in bed with Cas, the trip back to Lawrence isn’t really what Dean’s worried about.

“I _ will _follow,” Cas says quietly, and Dean shrugs.

“Right.”

“I _ will._”

“But what if—”

“Dean, if I say I’ll follow, I—”

“You also said you’d never leave me,” Dean snaps, “And look how that turned out.”

Cas shuts his mouth, eyes narrowed.

“And you promised we’d always be married.”

“Saying we’re _ both _dirty liars really doesn’t help your point, sweetheart.”

Dean is mildly surprised he doesn’t burst into flames on the spot, given the look that gets from Cas.

“Oh, dear,” Daphne murmurs.

“Maybe I _ won’t _follow you—” Cas starts, and Sam straightens.

“Okay, hey, that’s enough,” he says, throwing a sharp look at Dean. “If you need to stay here for a little while, that’s okay.”

“How is it _ okay _—”

“And Dean and I will be happy to wait for you in Lawrence,” he finishes quickly.

“Why can’t we wait _ here_?”

“Because we’ve overstayed our hospitality,” Sam grits out. “And if you want to convince Dad to let you marry Cas without it being a — a _ thing — _ then we maybe want to go home _ sooner _ rather than _ late _?”

Dean scowls.

Sam has a point and he knows it, but that doesn’t mean Dean has to _ like _it.

Across from him, Daphne claps her hands together, a slow smile spreading across her face.

“Oh, are you going to be married again, then? What a wonderful surprise!”

Dean stares.

And he _ almost _calls her on it — she’s maybe not as stupid as Dean thought — but then Sam’ll get on his case for being ungracious to their host, so he just grunts and shovels a spoonful of some weird chowder into his mouth.

“Thank you, Daphne,” Cas says, and they share a warm look Dean has to forcibly remind himself is no longer a problem.

Cas heads to his room after dinner, clearly expecting both of them to follow, which they do. The three of them hanging out after dinner feels so much like old times, Dean thinks he could have forgotten where he was if the room hadn’t been so different from his own.

They stay up too late — Sam and Cas get into some argument about some book they both read while they were apart, but clearly not recently enough to confidently remember (despite the fact that they still feel very strongly) — and it’s not until around two AM that Sam stands up to excuse himself.

But his sleepy eyes get all dewy again when he says good night to Cas, and before Dean can protest, Cas is pushing at Dean to make him scoot over and tugging Sam down into the bed.

Sam makes some halfhearted noises about not having to walk that far to get to his room, but Cas kindly tells him to shut up before putting the candles out and pulling the blanket over the three of them.

“This is super fucking weird,” Dean remarks after a moment, and Cas sighs.

“_Shut up, _Dean.”

And Dean stands by it, but since he’s warm and toasty and he can scent his brother and his sort-of-mate — his _ family — _ tucked in close, sleepy and _ happy, _he decides to let it go.

It’s the best night of sleep he’s had in ages.

Saying goodbye to Cas isn’t quite as hard as it was the last two times, but it’s still not easy.

It’s better, being able to follow up the looking and the clinging with the kisses Dean recognizes he’s been wanting to give for a while, but there’s still the part where they have to separate and one of them has to leave.

“I’ll follow, as soon as I can,” Cas promises, hands still curled in Dean’s lapels, and Dean takes a deep breath and nods.

“Okay.”

“And you’ll talk to your father.”

“Yeah.”

“And we’ll get married.”

“Yeah.”

“And if you could wait to have your rut until I get back, I would appreciate it,” he says next, all solemn, intent looks, and Dean starts nodding again before he fully processes what Cas is saying.

“Ye-what? No! Even if I could — no!”

Cas scowls.

“Why not?”

“Because! I told you, alphas in rut are — look, the first time we do this, it’s not gonna be while I’m bitchy and itchy and — and — and not nearly as coordinated as I usually am!”

The scowl deepens.

“I’m sure it’ll be very nice.”

“Well, _ yeah, _ but — but it’ll be nicer if we don’t do it during my _ rut. _”

Cas sighs.

“We’ll see.” He hesitates. “If you do have it — uh. Please don’t ask anyone else to help you.”

Which — it’s absurd that Cas would even _ ask. _

“Dude, I haven’t had help in — god, I don’t even remember the last time.”

Cas looks offensively surprised, but it quickly morphs to satisfaction as he nods.

“And you’ll think about me, while you have it.”

“Hrngh,” Sam says, quickly edging away, and Dean’s face goes hot.

“Uh. Yeah.”

Cas catches his eye, serious.

“I always think of you.”

“Oh — uh — that’s — awesome.” Dean clears his throat, rubbing the back of his neck and not sure how to feel, since Cas is unknowingly _ starting _shit here, except Dean has to leave and they’re not gonna see each other, and also Sam is clearly still in earshot if his incredibly uncomfortable posture is any indication.

There’s just a lot going on, okay?

Cas smiles.

“I’ll see you soon, Dean,” he promises, and Dean can’t help himself. He hugs him again, squeezing him tight.

“Soon as you can, okay?”

“As soon as I can.”

Dean pries himself away before he can’t anymore, and Sam nudges him aside with a grin, engulfing Cas in a bear hug.

“You better not change your mind,” he jokes, and Cas smiles.

“I’ll be home before you know it.”

Sam squeezes his shoulder.

“Good man. Say hi to your sister, for me.”

“I will. And I’ll discourage her from trying to elope with Valencia, in case Lawrence is her next stop,” he adds seriously, and after a split second of obvious confusion, Sam colors, grimacing.

“Right. Thank you.”

Cas’s lips twitch.

“Of course, Sam.”

Sam’s eyes narrow.

“You know what, Dean’s right, you’re kind of a dick sometimes.”

Cas just looks pleased with himself, and since it’s not at Dean’s expense, Dean couldn’t be prouder.

The boat ride is a nightmare, compounded by the fact that he’s already missing Cas, but they make it back to Lawrence in one piece and there’s an enormous crowd waiting at the gate.

There looks to be a mutiny when they ride in one Cas short, but then Dean dismounts and awkwardly explains that Cas is meeting his sister, but _ then _ he’ll be coming back, and he and Dean’ll probably get married, though it’s really not a big deal.

His team literally carries him into the hall, after which copious amounts of ale appear and, well, it’s all kind of fuzzy after that.

Being apart from Cas is hard, but while Dean expected to endure a few more weeks of winter, so to speak, he finds it’s easier, knowing for certain that Cas is coming home, and _ soon. _

And that when he does — Dean doesn’t have to worry about him leaving again, or trying to hide his feelings. He’s not gonna say it’s okay, because he still gets nervous sometimes, wonders if Cas is in the Isles changing his mind, or if next year he’s going to be pissed Dean tricked him into marrying him, but he tries to reassure himself that it’s out of his hands and if Cas wants to fuck up his life by tying himself to Dean _ again — _well, that’s his decision.

His Dad takes it fairly well; he’s a grumpy bastard about it, sure, but when Dean nervously announces his intentions, his Dad just pauses and glances at him warily.

“And if I agree to this, will it mean you stop chasing the brat all over the damn continent?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Have it your way, then. Now get out.”

He writes Cas immediately after, and with no small amount of glee, signs the letter ‘_yours.’ _

Sam is faring a little worse, but Dean suspects that has less to do with Cas still being gone and more to do with the fact that Val hasn’t spoken to either one of them — except to say, “Congratulations, you dick,” to Dean — since they got back.

Dean can’t be sure, on account of the not-talking, but he thinks she may be pissed about the fact that they went after Cas without telling her or, you know, leaving a note.

Which — if he thinks about it, a lack of written communication is kind of a sore spot with her and Sam, isn’t it? And really, the whole thing was Sam’s idea, anyway.

Still, Dean kindly keeps these thoughts to himself while Sam mopes around the castle and frowns through dinner, though by the second week, he tries to give some good, brotherly advice.

“Did you try apologizing?”

Sam gives him an appalled look and leaves the room. Dean’s not totally sure what that means, but since Valencia’s still cold-shouldering like a shoulder is also a battering ram, he decides Sam either already tried that or didn’t take Dean’s advice.

They’re home three weeks when the letter from Cas comes.

_ Dear Dean, _

<strike> _ Did you know I had an _ </strike>

<strike> _ My sister came and she _ </strike>

<strike> _ Do you remember the councilwoman _ </strike>

_ Anna has decided to a_ _bd_ _icate the throne to the rightful heir, my father’s sister, Amara. _

_ I _ _ am _ _ still in shock. I forgot I had an Aunt. That is, I must remember, somewhere in my mind, because Anna came here on a hunch because I talked about the councilwoman and — she wasn’t really expecting it to be so, but she’s been searching almost since she _ _ was made king. _

_ It was strange. When she spoke, I thought of being read to in the tower dungeon, and she used to. I used to go see her, when I was very young._

_ My father _ — _ he kept her there, for _ _ years _ _ . After he had children, he wanted to secure the throne for Michael and his vision _ _ so he just — he put her in the tower. _

_ She escaped and ran away, and here she is, but — I’m appalled. I don’t understand how he could do that._

_ Fortunately, she’s alive and well, and sane, and has been acting in politics in the Southern Isles for many years now. She and Anna have discussed things at length, and they’re in accord on most things, where Amara and my father were not._

_ Amara is reluctant, and she has concerns about relocating her daughter (I confess, Madison has quickly become my favorite cousin), but they’re still negotiating._

_ Amara prefers the climate in Eden, so there is that._

_ But Anna is very hopeful. She never told me, but she’s been looking for Amara because she wants to be free to come to Lawrence, where Bela and I are._

_ I am — trying not to get my hopes up, _ _ but — _ <strike> _ it’s hard to believe _ </strike>

_ It seems like too much, almost. We’ll be married again, and I’ll be home with everyone, and Anna might be there, too, and — I was _ _ so _ _ unhappy just a few months ago, Dean. I don’t understand how I can have everything I want. Never mind being fair, is it _ _ real _ _ ? I wonder if I went mad in Eden and everything since then has been a hallucination. _

_ It’s a very nice hallucination, at any rate._

_ I will keep you updated, _ _ but I think I should stay a little longer. Anna’s proud, and she doesn’t show it, but I think she needs the support. _

_ I miss you very much, Dean. _ _ Even with everything happening here, it’s difficult, not to just board a ship and go to you, especially now that I know you’ll be waiting. _

_ I love you._

_ Yours,_

_ Cas_

It’s a huge deal, and Dean has his fingers crossed it works out, but it does mean Cas is sticking around longer, and that — that’s hard.

Dean’s rut does happen, about a week after the letter, but it’s an easy one, and Ellen scribbles furiously on a sheet of parchment while she asks him questions before concluding they must still be scent-bonded.

He thinks about Cas, anyway, because — well, because he promised.

They get one more letter from Cas before there’s a long absence, but there’s no strange news from the port towns, so Dean just resigns himself to waiting.

And then, one day, the gate horn sounds.

Dean’s supervising in the training yard today, and literally everyone present goes still and quiet, listening.

And maybe it’s an emergency, some catastrophe in town or an attack on the wall or who the fuck knows what, but he takes one look at Sam and then the both of them break into a run.

Because somewhere in his bones, Dean knows exactly why the gate horn is sounding.

Cas has finally come home.

“You didn’t have to come all this way with me,” Cas says, and Jo shrugs, carefully waving him off while trying not to disturb her horse.

“Don’t sweat it. I was ready to come home, anyway. I’m definitely taking another trip, at some point, and more after that, probably, but — I decided I don’t feel like doing ‘em all at once.”

“That seems more practical,” he points out, and she nods.

“Besides. Maybe now Mom knows I’m not bluffing, she won’t pull strings with Bobby and the others.”

Cas doubts that, since he thinks Ellen would still rather Jo work and play around in various cities than go off on dangerous missions, but he nods encouragingly.

“Maybe. I’m glad you’re coming home with me, at any rate. It would have been a shame to return, and still not — for things to be different.”

“Well, I didn’t wanna miss out on your homecoming, either. Or the wedding.”

Cas smiles down at the reins.

“Honestly, I don’t care if there’s a wedding or not. Ideally, Dean would have papers ready at the gate, and I could just — sign.”

“What, you don’t want a big, romantic ceremony?”

Cas shrugs.

“I don’t remember it being particularly romantic, so much as . . . fussy.”

“Fair,” she agrees with a shudder. “Somebody might insist on it, but hey, if you can get away with it, good for you.”

“It’s fine if I can’t. Just — just as long as it happens.”

Jo gives him a soft, sympathetic look, reaching across to touch his shoulder.

“It will. Dean might fight it, but once he lets himself have what he wants, he doesn’t let it go easy.”

“I hope so,” Cas whispers. It’s not that he _ doubts _Dean, it’s just that—

It’s everything he told Dean in the letter; coming back, when he didn’t know if he’d be able to; knowing Dean loves him, that they’ll be together, the way Cas always wanted; Anna, probably coming to live in Lawrence, when he thought they’d never be close again.

It’s the letter he received in return, _ yours, Dean _scrawled at the bottom, a sight that held Cas in trance for God knows how long, words that are now tucked in his breast pocket, close to his heart.

Cas is so full of hope and excitement for the future, it’s frightening, because he doesn’t know what he’ll do if it doesn’t come to pass, after all.

He hears the gate horn sound once they’re in sight, and his pulse quickens, because mere minutes from now, he’ll be seeing everyone. He’ll be _ home, _for good this time.

He gently coaxes his horse into a faster pace, and thinks he hears Jo snicker behind him.

After an excruciating eternity, they arrive, riding through the open gate and to the crowd waiting beyond it. Cas hastily swings off his horse, thrusting the reins at a stablehand the way he’s always seen Dean do, and he needs no more than to turn around before he’s being pulled into Dean’s arms.

“You fucker,” Dean mutters, fingers digging into the meat of Cas’s shoulders, breath warm against his ear. “You _ fucker, _you didn’t tell me — I thought I was gonna wait forever—”

“I wanted to surprise you.”

“Oh, yeah? Good job, buddy. Don’t ever do it again.”

Cas wriggles away, just enough to tilt his head and press his mouth to Dean’s.

This time, Dean kisses back without hesitation.

Eventually, Sam pries Dean off of him, giving Cas a hug and welcoming him home. He looks a little tired, but there’s no mistaking his delight as he grips Cas’s shoulders and beams down at him.

“You know we’re never letting you leave again, right?”

Cas opens his mouth to object before Charlie shoves Sam aside and tackles Cas.

In fact, Cas feels like the center of a massive _ brawl, _pulled this way and that as everyone seizes their opportunity to hug him and welcome him back. It’s entirely different than the orderly procession of Eden, and Cas enjoys it wholeheartedly.

Valencia is the last one to greet him, but she does so no less warmly, hugging him tight and pressing her forehead against his, grinning.

“Hey, you,” she says, and Cas grins back.

“I missed you.”

“Probably not as much as I missed you, despite my best efforts. Also, you should know I totally would have joined the bring-Cas-home quest if anyone had told me it was happening.”

She pulls away, still smiling, but her eyes are serious, and he hears the apology in there.

In his peripheral, he sees Sam straighten.

“They were remiss, but I believe you. Thank you,” he tells her quietly, and she nods.

And then Sam is there, frowning down at her.

She turns toward him a little, and while Cas is a little surprised to see the irritation in her gaze, he suspects Sam is one of the ‘anyones’ who failed to tell her they were going.

Even Sam, he supposes, as wise as he is, has his blind spots.

“I want to marry you,” Sam blurts out.

Valencia goes rigid, just as everyone nearby falls dead silent.

“Not now,” Sam continues, brow furrowed. “Maybe not even in ten years, or twenty, or hell, ever, but — whatever that usually means, whatever it’s supposed to entail — I just want you to know I do want that. With you. Whether we actually do it or not.”

She gapes at him, and it occurs to Cas that he can’t remember ever seeing Valencia speechless.

“That is the most noncommittal proposal I’ve ever heard,” she finally says, clearly torn between horror and amusement.

Sam just shrugs.

“And you don’t have to answer it.” He pauses. “Not now, or in ten years, or twenty, or ever. But I wanted you to know.”

Valencia nods slowly, staring back at him for a long, long moment.

Nobody else says a word.

“Well. Not now. Maybe not ever. But — always, Sam,” she finishes, quiet, and he inhales sharply. “I mean, _probably_, I can’t actually pro—”

Sam just kisses her, clumsy and grinning, and a moment later someone’s hand cover’s Cas’s eyes.

“C’mon, we don’t need to see this,” Dean teases, clearly only feigning disgust.

“_Dean.” _Cas bats his hand away. “Stop it. This is — this is nice. I’m proud of them. And as someone who struggles to articulate their feelings, Dean, you should be as w—”

“Woah, hold up — I don’t — I don’t ‘_struggle to articulate _’ anything!”

“You are standing two feet away from us,” Valencia announces suddenly, and they glance over to see her looking sour, Sam burying his laughter in her hair. “Also, great proposal, shit apology, Sam.”

“I’ll work on it.”

Valencia just rolls her eyes.

If Dean didn’t know any better, he would have thought the entire _army _had just come back from a war, because the hall is completely packed within an hour of Cas’s return and the vast majority of the castle fast on their way to drunk-off-their-asses not long after.

Layla comes to gently scold Cas for not giving her fair warning, but copious amounts of food and every honey dessert the kitchen’s ever devised start getting carted in so soon Dean’s not sure there wasn’t witchcraft involved, and when the tables are full and the ale’s refreshed and several generous souls have started playing music, the kitchen staff comes to join the party.

Unfortunately, the overwhelming turnout to said party has one very obvious disadvantage:

Cas, as part of the point and purpose to the celebration, is kind of in high demand.

“Quit sulking,” Jo says, grin wide and offensive, and Dean uncrosses his arms with effort, leaning back against the wall nonchalantly.

“I’m not sulking. Just takin’ a breather.”

She nods.

“Yeah, that’s probably a good idea. You know, get all that fresh air now, ‘cause once you get him back, he’s gonna reek of everybody who’s been all over him tonight.”

Dean sniffs.

“Hey, the kid’s well-loved. I’m not gonna get grumpy over _that._”

“Well-loved, huh?” She gives him a speculative look. “Can’t be that _well-loved _if you’re still calling him ‘the kid.’ What, the Hero of Lawrence is too missish to do it in Daph’s guest room?”

He doesn’t blush.

He _doesn’t._

“There wasn’t _time,_” he mutters. “And anyway, it’s — that’s a big step, okay? Not that it’s any of _your _business, but Cas’ll probably need to, uh. To work up to that.”

Jo bites her lip.

“Hmm. You think so?”

“Jo.”

“’Cause if you ask me, he’s kinda been _working up to that _for years.”

Dean swallows.

“Uh. Maybe to — figuring stuff out, sure, but — thinking and doing are different, you know? He’s got like, no experience.” At least, Dean assumes. “And we’ve only been — uh. You know. Whatever, for like two seconds. Only an asshole would try and jump straight into the — the other stuff.”

“That’s one way of looking at it,” she says seriously. “The other way, of course, is that Cas would have _really _appreciated you being an asshole pretty much any time the last couple years.”

He glares at the floor, face hot.

“I hope you’re enjoying yourself,” he mutters, and she laughs. Dean doesn’t think he’s imagining the malice in it.

“Oh, I am. But seriously, Dean? We’ve _all_ had enough of you ‘doing the right thing.’” She claps him on his shoulder, catching his eye. “If you really wanna make him happy . . .”

He sighs.

“What?”

She smiles, a little kinder, enough that he relaxes a little.

“Make sure we can hear him from the barracks.”

Jo practically dances away, after that, and Dean is too embarrassed to do much more then gape after her.

He’s not left to his stupor for long, though, Pamela tugging him toward all the dancing with a knowing gleam in her eye, and though Dean _still _doesn’t end up getting to dance with Cas — he swears to God everyone’s still punishing him, because every time he so much as gets within a _foot_ of Cas, somebody swoops in and steals him away — they at least exchange a few smiles amid the chaos.

Though if Dean didn’t know any better, he’d swear Cas look _frustrated._

Of course, Dean’s probably just projecting; unlike Dean, Cas has been away for a very long time, and he’s probably relishing the time with all his friends and family.

Anyway, Dean gives up on trying to steal a dance, after a while, deciding to go and unwind with a few drinks or ten, since some unscrupulous group of cuddle-bandits will probably end up absconding with Cas come bedtime and Dean’ll just have to wait his supposed turn.

Except no matter how many times Dean manages to get his hand on tankard of ale or a chalice of wine or discreet cup of hard spirits, something _happens._

The first time, he loses his drink to Charlie careening right into him, nearly sending Dean tumbling right along with his drink. She apologizes profusely, and Dean accepts this, since he knows everyone else is way ahead of him, but then she stands and talks to him for like, half-an-hour about some new archival technique she and Donna have cooked up. Admittedly, it’s kind of interesting, but it would have been _more _interesting with a goddamn drink.

Finally, she gives him a suspiciously sober-looking wink and sends him on his way.

‘His way’ ends up including a detour to participate in a round of poker with Benny and Ash, where happily, he ends up getting his hands on another drink, but unhappily, Jo appears out of nowhere and fucking drinks it herself.

“Thanks, Dean,” she sighs with gusto, and bounces away once more.

He’s stuck there playing until the end of the round.

Three more times, Dean manages to acquire another drink, and all three times, something happens to it. The next one gets misplaced when Alfie needs help moving a table he shouldn’t be too drunk to manage and definitely shouldn’t be too _weak _to push, given his rank, and the one after that gets hijacked by Val, this time.

Sam looks deeply uncomfortable when she pats Dean on the shoulder with a cryptic, “Trust me, you want to be sober for this,” but then _Donna’s _pulling him back toward the dancing and by the time his final drink ends up tipped down the front of a strangely unbothered Emily’s dress, Dean is still completely sober and just as _annoyed._

Once he’s grit out an apology for a collision he’s _positive _wasn’t his fault, he marches straight toward the liquor table, empty tankard in hand and utterly determined to at least get a little _tipsy _by the night’s end.

Only to be stopped by a hand on his shoulder three feet before he gets there.

“Oh, for God’s sake—“ he starts, whirling. Dean’s never been one to take advantage of his princely authority and most people know it, but he swears to God, the next person who sabotages his drinking aspirations is getting a timeout in the courtyard, no matter how much of an ‘accident’ it is.

“Dean?”

Dean nearly swallows his own tongue. A part of him didn’t expect to get another chance to talk to Cas until _tomorrow, _yet — here he is.

“Cas! Hey, how, uh, how’s it going?”

Cas’s eyes flicker to Dean’s empty tankard, expression turning dismayed.

“You’ve been drinking?”

“Well, I’ve been _trying _to, but no, this, uh, this’ll be the first.”

Cas looks relieved.

“Good,” he says, hastily snatching the tankard away. Dean lets it go, too startled to protest. “And don’t. Meg warned me that if you drank, you wouldn’t be able to—“

“Ooh, my ears must be burning,” Meg drawls, throwing an arm around Cas’s shoulders and catching Dean’s eye with a grin. “But yeah, better lay off the sauce, Deano. Clarence, we need you back for Go Fish.”

Cas hesitates, eyes flicking to Dean.

“Right, but — actually, it’s getting late. Maybe we should, uh, think about turning in.”

“Oh, come on, it’s barely eight!” she points out. “The party’s practically just started.”

Cas looks pained.

“Ah, yes, but — but I’m starting to get a little tired—“

“Just a little? You’ll be fine, then.” She squeezes his shoulder. “Later, Dean!” she calls, and firmly guides Cas away.

Dean spares a longing glance toward the table, but ultimately heads in the other direction. He has no idea _why_ Cas suddenly has a problem with him drinking, but if Cas really doesn’t want him to . . .

With a sigh, he goes in search of a snack instead.

Two hours later, Dean is neck-and-neck with Val in a game of darts, Bela calmly heckling him from the sidelines — he blames the creativity of her insults on the fact that she leaves _twice_ to refill her cup of butterscotch schnapps — when a sudden wave of quiet descends, drawing their attention.

Dean lowers his dart hand, glancing around in alarm, and it only grows when he follows everyone’s gaze to the dancing area, where Cas is bent over, clutching his stomach, a puddle of what can only be regurgitated food and drink at his feet.

Dean wastes no time dropping his dart and sprinting over, though it takes time to push his way through the crowd.

“Cas? Buddy, you okay? Too much to drink?”

Cas slowly straightens, with what looks like tremendous effort, staring at Dean with wide eyes.

“I feel _terrible, _Dean,” he croaks. “I — I think I need to go to bed.”

Alarmed — usually, when Cas is sick, he goes through a pretty long stage of denial and grin-and-bear-it before he’ll submit to any kind of bedrest — Dean closes the remaining distance and wraps an arm around Cas’s shoulders, searching his face for any other signs of distress.

“Yeah, sweetheart, of course. We’ll get you straight to bed.” Cas nods slightly, though Dean almost thinks there’s a glint of satisfaction in his gaze. “Somebody get me Ellen — we might wanna take him to the infirmary to make s—“

“No!” Cas interrupts quickly, then swallows. “I just — I, uh. I think I drank too much.”

Dean’s briefly taken aback — so _Cas _gets to get wasted, but Dean’s not allowed to? — then shakes the feeling aside. Cas is _sick _right now, enough that he’s throwing up, and whether it’s too much to drink or the goddamn plague, Dean needs to get him fixed up, ASAP.

“Still, let’s at least have Ellen take a look at you,” Dean insists, and tries to gently guide him in the direction of a chair, carefully avoiding the puddle by Cas’s feet.

It looks remarkably like the vegetable tomato bisque from dinner last night, but vomit is like that, Dean supposes.

Cas resists at first, but then he sighs and follows along to the chair, leaning heavily into Dean’s side the entire time — which, he must be _incredibly _sick, if he’s willing to do that.

Dean waits anxiously while someone fetches Ellen, rubbing circles into Cas’s back all the while.

“You gonna be okay?” he asks pointlessly, unable to help himself, and Cas nods quickly.

“I am. I just — you know how it is. With alcohol. This happens. But, uh, I think if you just took me upstairs to bed, I’d be f—“

“What’s up, honey?” Ellen interrupts, voice soft as she crouches down by the chair. “I heard you’re feeling sick?”

It takes Cas a moment to answer, gaze flicking across the small crowd still surrounding them, waiting to hear,and Ellen looks concerned.

“This just your tummy, or you got anything else going on?” Ellen reaches out, laying a palm against his forehead. “You don’t feel warm. You think you mighta picked somethin’ up on the way back home?”

Cas swallows, shaking his head.

“No, it, uh, it’s probably just something I ate.”

Dean frowns. First he says it was the ale, and now it’s the food?

Cas must be feeling even worse than Dean thought. Still, as much as he might want to play around with everybody some more, if he caught flu or something on his way back, he needs to take it easy.

“Maybe you better stay in the infirmary tonight and let her keep an eye on you,” Dean suggests, although privately, he thinks he’d better go with Cas and keep an eye on him, too. “Just to be safe.”

Cas gives him a frustrated look.

“I really don’t think that’s necessary.”

“Maybe so,” Ellen says, frowning at him. “But a lot o’ nasty things start out mild, and throwin’ up like that’s a bad sign. Couldn’t hurt to spend the night in there, just in case.”

For some reason, Cas’s jaw tenses.

Then he straightens, lifting his chin and holding her gaze.

“I think,” he says evenly, “That if Dean just _takes me to bed, _I will be fine.”

Dean waits for Ellen to insist, like a good doctor should, but Ellen just blinks, silent for a minute.

And then she stands, nodding.

“Well, alright, then. You feel better, honey.”

“What?” Dean stands, too, shocked. “Ellen, he could have the _plague, _for all we know! We should at least make sure that’s the last of it,” he adds, frantically pointing toward the offending puddle, though it’s already halfway to being mopped up.

“I think it is,” she says dryly, unbelievably flippant for a medical professional, and pats Dean’s arm. “You just take him up to your room, for now.”

“But — but what if he’s really sick?”

“I doubt it, but if he is, feel free to bring him by.”

With that, she looks at the remaining crowd, jerking her head for them to disperse, and wanders in the vague direction of the liquor table.

Frustrated — and undeniably worried — Dean turns back to Cas, smoothing a hand over his hair.

“Jesus, what is she thinking?” he mutters. “The second you start feeling worse, tell me, and we’ll go over, alright? And if you’re not better by morning, we’re definitely going.”

Cas studies him for a long moment, and then he sighs, though the strange, almost-fierce look in his eyes softens.

“Alright, Dean. For now — I’d like to go upstairs.”

“Of course.” If Ellen doesn’t want him in the infirmary, the next best thing for Cas is to get him into bed as soon as earthly possible. “C’mon — you need help?”

Cas shakes his head, but he accepts Dean’s proffered hand, anyway, leaning into him a little once he’s standing, and Dean’s heart gives a painful squeeze.

God, he hopes it’s nothing serious.

Cas considers himself a very reasonable, equally well-behaved person, and he was genuinely delighted to see all the beloved faces he’s been missing this last year; that said, if one more person prevents him from going upstairs with Dean, he’s going to enact his plans right there in the hall and everyone _else _can be the ones to leave.

Fortunately, he manages to herd Dean out into the corridor and all the way up the stairs without incident, although Dean keeps giving him anxious looks and unsubtly trying to scent him.

Cas accepts this, even if he finds it difficult to believe Dean really doesn’t know what they’re going upstairs for. He’d blame it on some level of inebriation, but their proximity allows Cas to scent him right back, and it looks like all of his friends stayed true to their word.

Dean is sober, and so is Cas, and now that they’re together again —

There is absolutely nothing to stop them.

There are things to _delay _them, unfortunately, but Cas strides to the washroom with purpose, vigorously brushing all traces of honeycake and tomato bisque out of his mouth. Dean follows, and when it looks like he means to hover instead of brushing his own teeth, Cas pauses in his task.

“I’m fine, Dean.”

“Sure, but — if your stomach’s upset, the mint might, uh, send the rest of your dinner back up.”

“My stomach is no longer upset,” Cas says firmly, and Dean scrutinizes him for a moment before he relaxes slightly.

“Yeah? You sure?”

Cas nods, hastily wiping a bit of drool and tooth powder from where it’s escaping at the corner of his mouth.

“I’m sure. Brush your teeth, please.”

Cas returns the brush to his mouth, still trying to convey his sincerity with his gaze, and after a moment, Dean follows suit, though he keeps looking at Cas.

That’s fine, though; Cas expects Dean to look at him a lot tonight, and even if this isn’t quite what he had in mind, he has faith they’ll get there.

He’s already washed and dried his face by the time Dean is done brushing, and instead of _hurrying, _Dean pauses to look him over again.

“Still doin’ okay?”

Cas sighs.

“Yes, Dean. I told you, I’m fine.”

Dean hesitates.

“Well, I know you wanted to hurry and get in bed, but a hot bath might he—“

He’s interrupted by a knock at the door, and Cas offers him a smug smile.

“I ordered one for you, as well.”

Dean’s brow creases.

“When did you—“

Cas slips out of the wash room to answer the door.

Dean is quiet as they bathe, looking almost contemplative whenever Cas glances over, and for once, Cas actually misses something from Eden; if they had a bathing room like the ones in Novak Castle, he and Dean could be bathing _together _right now.

Although, the temptation in that case might prove too great.

A few feet away, Dean suddenly inhales, and then his head snaps around, eyes wide as he meets Cas’s gaze.

Which — Cas hadn’t realized he was staring again.

Oh, well. They might not be married right _now, _but they will be, and Cas decides he’s probably allowed.

“You, uh. You okay over there?” Dean asks, sounding vaguely confused, and the sight of him sitting in the bath, lashes damp and freckled cheeks rosy, bare shoulders visible over the edge, makes something in Cas’s chest turn warm and soft. Still, it does nothing to dim the sense of urgency he’s been feeling since he caught sight of Dean at the gate.

He smiles slightly, heart quick-but-steady between his ribs.

“That was tomato soup, Dean,” he says gently. Dean’s brow dips, green eyes searching, and Cas swears it only makes the urgency grow.

“Uh. What was?”

He shakes his head.

“Finish your bath, Dean.”

Dean says nothing, but he picks his washcloth back up, and Cas does the same.

“Hey, uh, when you said ‘that was tomato soup,’ you didn’t mean—“ Dean starts, _finally _emerging from the bathroom after Cas has already dried off and lay back on the bed, but he fails to finish the question.

Cas understands, anyway.

“Yes, I did. Which may seem excessive, but you have to understand — _every_ time I tried to excuse myself, someone roped me into talking or dancing or playing games. Which was very enjoyable the first five hours, _however_ — not what I wanted to spend the entire night doing.”

Dean just stares.

“Oh.”

“You shouldn’t have put on pajamas,” Cas adds, a little disappointed, and Dean visibly swallows.

“Uh. Why, uh. Why is that?”

Cas lifts his brows, incredulous, and Dean winces.

“Right,” he mutters, reaching up to rub the back of his neck. “Okay. So — okay, that makes sense, but, uh, I mean, are you sure . . .”

Cas frowns, not sure what Dean is trying to say.

“Take off your clothes, Dean,” he instructs, a little impatient, and Dean stares back at him with wide eyes.

“Uh. Cas. You, uh, you know we don’t have to, uh . . .” Cas would be flattered by the way Dean keeps trying to look at the wall, only for his gaze to flicker back to some place on Cas’s body which is almost certainly not ‘his face,’ except Dean’s room is a little drafty and Cas is getting cold and, worst of all, _Dean is still dressed._

“I’m not naive, Dean,” he says pointedly. “I know we don’t _have _to undress completely, but for the first time, I want to be able to touch you everywhere.”

Dean’s eyes fly to Cas’s and he inhales with a strange sort of wheeze.

Nothing else follows. Cas licks his lips.

“And I want you to touch _me_ everywhere,” he adds, in case that wasn’t clear, but Dean just covers his face with his hand. “Dean?”

“Just — just give me a minute, okay?”

Cas swallows, impatience fading and concern taking its place.

“You . . .” He doesn’t really want to ask — he’s suddenly terrified of the answer — but he knows he probably needs to. “Did you — change your mind?”

Dean’s hand drops, expression blank.

“What?”

Cas suddenly wishes he’d put pajamas on, too.

“You said — in the Isles, you said there were things you dreamed about doing to me. I assumed . . . but — did you change your mind?”

After all, it’s not like they discussed it in their letters — which, maybe they _should_ have. Maybe Cas should have spent less time telling Dean about the theater and Anna and how much he missed him, and more time sharing erotic fantasy. It’s not like he wasn’t having _plenty._

Dean starts forward, stumbling in his haste.

“No! No, I — I still — and I thought about you during my rut, just like I promised, I swear, Cas, I just — I didn’t think you’d wanna — and I didn’t plan for it, and now you’re here, like, _here _here, and I just — I — I wasn’t expecting it.”

Cas squints, trying and failing to be reassured.

“You weren’t expecting it?” he repeats slowly, and finally sits up fully, reaching for a pillow and settling it in his lap. “I know you’re supposed to talk about these things before they happen the first time, but — I thought we did. But you don’t — you don’t _plan_ them.” He hesitates. “Unless — I brought alpha sleeves back with me from the Isles, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Cas doesn’t think he’s ever seen Dean so red.

“I — okay, that’s — that’s good, but — I mean, this is — look, Cas, uh. Your first time is supposed to be — special, okay? So — so yeah, I wanted to have a plan.”

Cas frowns.

“You don’t need to have a plan for it to be special, Dean. It’s — well, it’s _you. _And I’ve been waiting a long time.” Though it seems he’s destined to wait a little longer. “That you’re willing to do this — assuming you really are — I don’t know what could be more special.”

Dean looks taken aback.

“Oh.”

Cas hesitates, and then he sets aside the pillow and leans forward, holding out a hand.

“I’m sorry if I — surprised you, but — I regretted it, after you left the Isles. And I ended up being there for so much longer, I just wanted — and if you really don’t want to, tonight, I’d never make you, but . . .” To his relief, Dean quickly sits down at the edge of the bed, taking Cas’s hand, though he still looks a little stunned. “I just — I’m ready when you are, Dean.”

Dean looks at him for a long moment, then takes a deep breath.

“Okay. Okay, it’s — it’s not that I’m not ready, it’s just, uh. I figured I’d . . .” He stops, and then abruptly snorts. “I kinda wanted to blow your mind, Cas. But suddenly you’re here and you’re pretty damn naked and I wasn’t expecting it, and — and honestly? At this point, I think I’m just gonna end up embarrassing myself. There’s a reason I wanted time to plan.”

Cas shakes his head.

“You won’t embarrass yourself. You couldn’t. If anyone’s going to embarrassed, it will be me.”

Dean gives him a wry look.

“Trust me, sweetheart, you got nothin’ to be embarrassed about.”

“That’s not true. As you pointed out — this is the first time I’ve done this with another person.” He hesitates. “It’s not enough to stop me from trying, but — it’s not unlikely I’ll do it wrong.”

Dean’s expression turns serious.

“Cas. I mean it. There’s nothing for you to be embarrassed about, and — and as long as you’re here with me, as long as you really want me — there’s no question of doing it wrong.”

Cas swallows.

“Well, I am, and I do. Plan or not.”

Dean doesn’t respond for a moment, studying him.

And then he squeezes Cas’s hand and lets go, cheeks still a little pink beneath his freckles.

“Alright,” he mumbles, and then —

Dean starts pulling off his sleep shirt, and Cas forgets to breathe.

It’s not like Cas has never seen him shirtless before; he has, and often. Cas did, in fact, see him bare as the day he was born in the bath less than twenty minutes ago.

But watching Dean take his shirt off, tug at the string on his pajama pants and stand, pushing them down and stepping out of them — watching Dean reveal himself, not as a matter of course, but for _Cas _—

It’s different, and a peculiar sort of heat suffuses him when Dean finally turns, vaguely sheepish.

“Okay. So, uh. Can I . . .” he gestures toward the bed, and Cas hesitates.

“I want to look at you, if — if that’s okay. You can look at me, too,” Cas adds hastily, leaning back and trying to spread out a little more.

Dean makes a funny choking noise, and that inarticulate little sound sends a strange ripple of pleasure through Cas.

“Yeah, uh, okay, that’s — okay.”

At first, Dean holds himself stiffly, eyes flickering over Cas, disappointingly brief, given how Cas’s own gaze seems to want to stick on every smooth, golden inch of Dean’s body.

But then Dean sort of relaxes, and even though Cas is preoccupied examining certain things he’s been wondering about for years (things that appear to be increasingly interested in the proceedings, to Cas’s immense satisfaction), he can feel Dean’s gaze on him, intent this time.

“You done looking?” Dean eventually asks, and Cas glances up, startled. He’s never heard Dean sound quite like this, low and rough in a way that makes the hair on the back of Cas’s neck stand on end.

It’s not a bad feeling, though — not at all.

Dean takes a deep breath, and his jaw tightens.

“Please tell me you’re done looking,” he adds, somehow even _lower_, and Cas opens his mouth, trying to find some word of assent.

It won’t come, and he ends up simply nodding.

It’s good enough for Dean, apparently; he wastes no time in crawling onto the bed, knees settling on either side of Cas’s thighs. His weight causes the mattress to dip slightly, and Cas can feel himself sink. The wave of scent that accompanies this move is so overwhelming, Cas struggles to let out his next breath once he takes it.

Dean looks at him, still hovering much too far above, like he knows.

“I forgot to scent you,” he says quietly. “Earlier.”

Cas forces himself to let out the breath he’s holding and nods.

“I think you kissed me, instead.”

Dean’s tongue darts out, wetting his lips.

“You kissed me first. Didn’t really give me a chance.”

It’s not that Cas is having trouble thinking right now, so much as his thoughts are racing in what feels like a thousand different directions. He can feel the heat from Dean’s body, just barely too far to warm him properly, and Dean’s scent is rich and heavy in the air between them.

Cas still wants to get closer, breathe it in right from the source.

He wonders if that’s what Dean wants, too.

“I’ll give it to you now, if you want,” he offers, and if Cas thought _Dean_ sounded distinctly different than he usually does, Cas's own voice sounds even stranger.

He swears Dean’s eyes get darker.

“Okay, Cas,” he says quietly, and then he’s leaning down, bracing his forearms against the sheet on either side of Cas’s head.

Cas tilts toward one of those hands, baring his throat, and Dean tenses for some reason.

“Fuck,” he mutters, and Cas is about to ask what’s wrong when he continues: “Definitely gonna embarrass myself.”

And then he ducks his head, nose brushing against Cas’s jaw, moving slowly down his throat, and Cas can feel the deep, even breaths he takes.

Dean’s own scent is overwhelming, this close, and Cas’s fingers involuntarily curl at his sides, pulling at the sheet.

“You, uh. You smell a little like you do when you’re in rut,” Cas whispers, and Dean pauses, breath hot against the juncture between Cas’s neck and shoulder.

“Yeah. That’s, uh. That’s what a cycle is, isn’t it? It’s your body wanting to mate.”

Cas swallows. He knows what Dean means, but —

“What about you? Your body might want to, but — do you, ever?”

Dean finally pulls back, studying him, and Cas isn’t sure whether the shiver that goes through him is from the sudden cold or the way Dean’s looking at him.

“I never thought about mating anyone I’ve been with, even when I was in rut,” he finally says.

Cas nods slightly. He hasn’t been able to stop himself from thinking about it, a few times, but he knows a promise of marriage is entirely separate from mating.

He can’t help but ask, anyway.

“Do you think you ever will?”

Dean smiles slightly, and finally, he lifts one hand and touches Cas, hand resting on Cas’s collarbone as he lightly thumbs the spot where his shoulder meets his neck.

The spot where a bite would go.

Cas suspects Dean can feel his pulse, wild beneath the skin, but he can’t bring himself to care.

“Are you asking if I ever think about mating you, Cas?”

Technically, Cas was asking if Dean ever thought he _would _think about it, but the question almost makes it sound like —

“Marriage and mating are different,” Cas hedges. “I don’t expect it.”

The corners of Dean’s mouth pull down.

“You know we scent-bonded, right?”

Well, Cas scent-bonded to _Dean, _but—

“That is also different from a proper mating,” Cas points out, searching Dean’s face.

Dean just looks at him for a second, thumb still stroking softly, until finally, he glances away.

“I thought about you, my last rut.” His lips quirk. “Well, uh, technically, I thought of you before that, too, but — last time — yeah, I thought about mating you.”

Cas sucks in an uneven breath.

Dean continues, and Cas notices, for the first time, the way the flush in his cheeks has spread down his neck, blooming faint across his chest, as well.

“I, uh. It was an easy rut, since we’re still — you know — but I promised I’d think about you, so I did. And when I thought about mating you—" Dean pauses, though it seems more out of embarrassment than for effect. “You don’t even know, Cas. When the haze cleared, I—“

He cuts off, something dark and heady blooming in his scent, and Cas clumsily wriggles a hand up between them, gently cupping Dean’s cheek.

“You what?”

“I had my teeth sunk into the pillow,” he mumbles. “Bit right through the case.”

At these words, Cas is suddenly painfully aware that Dean’s body is not the only one doing some things it usually does in cycle.

Above him, Dean tenses, making a low noise in his throat that does nothing to help Cas’s situation.

“What?” Cas asks.

“Do you know what your scent is doing right now?” he grits out.

It’s harder to smell himself, especially with Dean so close, and mildly intoxicating, at that, but he can take a guess.

“Is that okay?”

“Is that o— _really_, Cas?”

Cas thinks Dean’s a little closer than he was a moment ago.

“In Eden, you said it was fine, but you didn’t seem particularly . . . fond of it.”

The memory is always a little disheartening, but ‘fine’ is not ‘bad,’ and Dean has apparently thought about mating Cas — _enjoyed _thinking about it, at that — so Cas finds it difficult to be too anxious.

“I was _lying._” Dean almost sounds offended. “Cas, we _scent-bonded. _Years ago. You know what that means, right?”

Cas blinks.

“’We’?” he echoes. “I thought it was just me?”

“What? Cas, you can’t have a one-way scent-bond.”

Cas stares, stunned.

“No one told me that.”

“Well, they should have! Did you really think I didn’t—“ Dean takes a deep breath. “Look, you can’t. We scent-bonded, both of us, and the only reason that would happen? Is if every instinct I had thought you were it.”

“I — but you said —“

“Because I didn’t know how to handle that! And it meant I handled it like shit, but — even before I was willing to admit I wanted you, I thought — I thought you smelled like home, Cas.”

He straightens, shifting like he’s about to move to the side, further away from Cas, and Cas grabs his arm, keeping him back.

“Home,” he repeats, faintly enamored, and the word is sweet on his lips. ‘Home’ is the place that someone belongs, the place that, regardless of where they go, they will inevitably want to return to. “I smell like home to you?”

Dean settles back on Cas’s thighs, warm and heavy in a way Cas doesn’t mind at all, not that or the shock of sensation where their bare skin presses together. Dean reaches out, brushing Cas’s cheek.

“Yeah. I — Cas, you kind of _are _home, to me. And I — I’m sorry I let you doubt that. But I always liked your scent. So much that I lied to you and I lied to me, ‘cause I couldn’t handle it. But — even when you actually were too young, when you first tried to help me with my rut — I threw you out because your scent was driving me crazy. And did anyone ever tell you _why _I couldn’t get help?”

“I assumed no one had time.”

“Well, you assumed wrong, Cas. Everyone else’s smell repulsed me. I thought there must be something wrong with me, especially when you came in and it made me—“ Dean swallows. “But there wasn’t. There wasn’t a damn thing wrong with me. The problem was them, ‘cause — ‘cause they weren’t you, and some part of me knew. I knew I was yours.”

Dean told Cas, once, that he didn’t like to share. It was reassuring, in that it gave Cas hope, assuming he could ever get Dean to love him.

It was nothing compared to actually hearing Dean say Cas is the _only _one he wants.

That Dean is _his_.

Dean’s hand gentles even further, brushing back the hair at Cas’s temple.

“So — I’m sorry I made you feel like I didn’t like your scent.” That wonderful note threading through Dean’s scent has faded, replaced by something that puts a sad, heavy feeling in Cas’s chest. “I — I’m sorry I kept telling you I didn’t want _you. _But I do. More than anything, Cas.”

Cas recognizes the look in Dean’s eyes, now; it’s guilt. And perhaps it’s warranted, if others are to be believed, and perhaps it’s not, if Cas’s instincts are the greater authority, but either way, it doesn’t matter.

He catches Dean’s hand before it can make another sweep through his hair, holding fast, his eyes stinging.

“Thank you,” he manages. “Thank you for saying that. I — I waited a long time, to hear you say that. To know you felt that way.”

“Yeah." Dean swallows. "Sorry I kept you waiting.”

“I forgive you. Just —“ He takes a deep breath. “Don’t make me wait anymore, please.”

Dean nods, slow, eyes never leaving Cas’s face, and when no action seems to follow, Cas takes matters into his own hands.

He gently cups the back of Dean’s neck, tugging. Dean’s balance wavers at first, but then he catches himself against the bed, and before Cas can say another word, Dean leans down the rest of the way and kisses him.

Things like guilt and forgiveness are quickly forgotten; all the space in Cas’s head and heart are reserved for _Dean, _as he is in this moment, warm and sweet and for once, communicating plenty, communicating things that steal Cas’s breath and make him feel blissfully, almost unbearably whole, all without a single word between them.

“You’re tense,” Cas points out, dizzy with the pleasure of Dean’s skin pressed to his, of Dean’s mouth, tender and demanding against his own. But there’s a tightness to his shoulders, to the way he holds himself above Cas, and Cas doesn’t understand, not when sensation has nearly overwhelmed him, left him soft and pliant and feeling as though he might simply sink into the bed if Dean doesn’t keep hold of him.

“Yeah,” Dean whispers, a hot breath against Cas’s jaw. “I’m trying to hold back, Cas.”

It takes Cas a moment to process that, and when he does, indignation cuts through his pleasure, wholly unwelcome.

“Why would you do that?”

“Because,” Dean huffs, tilting his head to nose at the skin just behind Cas’s ear. “S’posed to be special, remember? But — God, if you could see yourself, Cas. When you’re like this — I just wanna —“

And it’s vague, in that frustrating way Dean has sometimes, but the _way _he says it —

Cas tightens his grip on Dean’s shoulders.

“Then do it,” he commands. “There will be other times, and they will all be special to me. I — I’m _tired _of you holding back. So — don’t.”

Dean has frozen, lips against Cas’s ear, and for a long, unhappy moment, Cas thinks he is destined to spend his entire life having Dean _not listen to him._

But then there’s a growl, one he can feel start in Dean’s chest and end up right in Cas’s ear, thrumming deliciously across his skin, and a moment later, Dean’s body has relaxed, the weight of it pressing Cas down, down, down, and those kisses turn much less tender in a way that is no less compelling.

He doesn’t hold back, after that, and neither does Cas.

Cas decides that is precisely what makes it special.

Anna completes the transitions in Eden and officially emigrates to Lawrence a few weeks before the wedding. John is, frankly, _ baffled, _but surprisingly accommodating, as long as it means trade goes smoothly and nobody sucks him into expensive, army-depleting wars.

He — and the overwhelmingly loud input of the Edenish people — insist on an official wedding, given that Dean is heir to the throne, so they have to endure both tedious planning and an actual ceremony, but in the end, it could be a lot worse.

And yeah, carrying Cas to their bedchamber is fifty times harder this time around — especially because he fucking keeps _ squirming, _ like a frightened cat, trying to insist he can just _ walk _(and maybe also because they have to stop at every other flight of stairs for Dean to set him down and catch his breath) — but this time they’re not strangers and nobody else comes in with them and, well —

Dean already knows it’s _ totally _worth it.

_THE END_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> P.S. For anyone who's been reading and is curious about what young knight-in-training Cas looked like, Diminuel made a lovely doodle of this, which can be found [here](https://diminuel.tumblr.com/post/189255083805/young-knight-in-training-cas-i-was-inspired-by)!! :D

**Author's Note:**

> * SPOILERS *
> 
> Regarding the scenes of violence:  
1) Later on in the story, Cas and his traveling companion are set upon by bandits who intend to sell them as slaves. Cas fights and kills them.  
2) Crowley kills April via a knife to the throat.  
3) During an attempt to kidnap him, Cas fights off and stabs his attacker.
> 
> Regarding the Slow Burn: If you'd like to know exactly when it becomes an established relationship: not until the last chapter. I consider them increasingly romantic prior to that point, but that final leap doesn't happen until then.
> 
> Regarding the Frustration: Misunderstandings abound in this fic; also, Dean's struggle to perceive Cas as an adult is a constant, well past when Cas is of age and has made his feelings clear. This is incredibly difficult for Dean to overcome, and his inability to do so and respect the sincerity of Cas's wants/decisions was also difficult for some readers to tolerate. As always, if you want more clarification, please feel free to ask.
> 
> Regarding the Attempted Rape/Non-con:  
April befriends Cas and later lures him to a greenhouse and attacks him. Cas fights her off, but is very shaken by the whole event; a trial of sorts is held, during which Cas is asked to testify (an experience which is also a little traumatic), and ends with Crowley killing her.


End file.
